rr^v 


WHAT  SOME   OF  THE  CRITICS   SAID 
ABOUT   THE   PLAY 


A  play  that  will  stimulate  thought  upon  a  subject  of  vital  impor- 
tance to  the  nation. — WILLIAM  WINTER  in  New  York  Tribune. 

The  play  holds  the  audience  in  a  firm  grip  of  interest  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  —  The  Globe. 

Interesting  play,  well  acted  and  well  worth  seeing.  —  The  New 
York  Times. 

A  play  with  insides,  real  humor,  and  much  sincere  feeling.  It 
agitates  one's  gray  matter.  —  The  Sun. 

The  play  is  a  strong,  coherent  story  of  human  impulses  and 
abounds  in  clever  lines. — The  Journal  of  Commerce. 

Having  ideas  in  it,  the  piece  is  welcome;  moreover,  it  provides 
excellent  entertainment,  vital  and  significant  drama.  —  The  Evening 
Post. 

"The  Battle"  fights  its  way  to  popular  success.  We  have  to 
thank  Mr.  Moffett  for  giving  us  what  we  want. — ASHTON  STEVENS. 

It  is  a  good  play  BECAUSE  IT  MAKES  PEOPLE  THINK,  even 
though  they  may  think  in  a  primitive  and  somewhat  childish  way. 
It  is  one  of  a  number  of  plays  putting  on  the  stage  the  actual  ques- 
tions of  to-day,  and  making  vivid  and  clear  pictures  that  are  hazy  in 
the  average  mind.  .  .  .  It  is  an  interesting,  startling,  highly 
dramatic  performance. — Editorial  in  New  York  Evening  Journal. 

These  are  real  men  and  real  women ;  the  emotions  are  real  emo- 
tions, human,  understandable ;  the  theories  advanced  have  truth  in 
them  and  conviction.  ...  It  is  a  play  that  we  believe  will  suc- 
ceed, and  succeed  largely  because  its  appeal  is  to  the  best  in  its 
audience,  not  to  the  worst. — The  Washington  Herald. 


MARGARET. 


Frontispiece. 


THE  BATTLE 


ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM 
SCENES   IN  THE    PLAY 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM   COMPANY 


THE  BATTLE. 


TO 
JAMES   GORDON   BENNETT 

TO    WHOSE    KINDNESS   AND    ENCOURAGEMENT 
I    OWE    MY    START   IN    LITERARY   WORK 

THIS    BOOK    IS 

GRATEFULLY   AND    AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 

NEW  YORK,  April  10,  1909. 


A  WORD   OF  EXPLANATION 

MY  play,  "  The  Battle,"  was  produced  December 
21,  1908,  at  the  Savoy  Theater,  New  York  City,  and 
not  only  met  with  success  but  stirred  up  violent  con- 
troversy. It  was  vigorously  attacked  by  socialists, 
who  charged  me  with  unfairness  toward  their  cause 
and  misrepresentation  of  their  ideas.  They  held  meet- 
ings and  denounced  me ;  they  filled  newspaper  columns 
with  angry  protests.  One  of  their  leaders,  a  God- 
fearing lady  and  a  friend  of  mine,  spoke  of  me  in 
the  public  press  as  a  black  beetle  in  the  path  of  prog- 
ress. This  showed  that  some  one  had  been  hurt! 

On  December  2Qth  I  made  the  following  statement 
in  the  New  York  Tribune :  "  If  the  creed  of  socialism 
is  not  set  forth  in  '  The  Battle '  as  clearly  or  vigor- 
ously as  the  creed  of  capital,  it  is  because  I  have  never 
been  able  to  understand  what  the  real  creed  of  social- 
ism is  among  the  various  and  conflicting  varieties ;  also 
because  I  have  never  had  much  respect  for  a  dream 
of  universal  happiness  that  involves  wholesale  con- 
fiscation of  the  property  of  others." 

I  still  hold  that  view. 

The  play  continued  to  be  widely  discussed  before 
numerous  clubs  and  societies,  and,  by  a  singular  chain 
of  circumstances,  the  name  of  the  richest  man  in 
America  was  amusingly  connected  with  "  The  Battle," 


8  A   WORD   OF   EXPLANATION 

it  being  said  that  he  had  financed  this  play,  which,  of 
course,  was  utterly  untrue. 

Various  publishers  now  urged  me  to  make  a  novel- 
ization  of  "  The  Battle,"  and  I  finally  did  so,  blending 
as  effectively  as  I  could  new  text  based  on  the  dialogue 
of  the  play  with  about  half  the  old  text  of  my  orig- 
inal novel,  "  A  King  in  Rags."  In  this  difficult  work 
of  adaptation  and  reconstruction  I  received  the  assist- 
ance of  a  skillful  writer,  whose  services  I  hereby 
acknowledge. 

As  to  my  real  convictions  touching  poverty  and 
wealth,  I  may  add  that  I  certainly  believe  in  a  fairer 
division  of  the  products  of  toil.  All  who  know  and 
care  are  agreed  that  at  present  this  division  is  not 
fair.  There  is  too  much  for  the  few,  too  little  for 
the  many.  This  is  common  sense,  not  socialism. 

I  believe  that  exceptional  men  who  do  exceptional 
things  are  entitled  to  exceptional  rewards,  but  there 
should  be  a  limit  to  these  rewards.  It  is  inconceivable 
that  any  man  can  earn  or  deserve  a  thousand  million 
dollars!  Or  a  hundred  million  dollars!  Or  fifty 
million  dollars!  And  it  is  intolerable  injustice  that 
such  enormous  sums  should  be  inherited  by  persons 
who  have  done  nothing  exceptional,  but  have  merely 
benefited  by  an  accident  of  birth.  I  believe  in  an 
inheritance  tax  so  rigorously  graduated  that  on  a  rich 
man's  death  the  State  would  take  all  that  he  leaves 
above,  say,  ten  or  twenty  millions. 

It  is  certain  that  our  captains  of  industry  are  op- 
pressive, often  dishonest  in  their  dealings,  but  so  is 
the  small  business  man  in  his  dealings,  so  is  the  aver- 
age American  citizen.  The  standards  of  our  indus- 


A   WORD   OF   EXPLANATION  9 

trial  leaders  are  the  standards  of  the  American  people 
• — not  excepting  socialists.  And  the  only  way  to  stop 
dishonesty  in  high  places  is  to  establish  honesty  in 
low  places. 

One  of  the  best  things  that  could  happen  in  this 
country,  one  of  the  most  compelling  influences  toward 
a  fairer  division  of  the  products  of  toil,  would  be  the 
sight  of  a  multimillionaire  malefactor  behind  iron 
bars.  Or,  if  such  an  example  may  not  be  hoped  for, 
if  laws  are  made  only  to  be  evaded  by  rich  scoun- 
drels, then  let  us  build  them  statues  of  dishonor  in  our 
public  places;  in  which  case  some  of  our  proudest 
and  richest  families  would  read,  on  tablets  of  stone 
or  bronze,  strange  tributes  to  their  founders,  like  the 
following : 

GOD  GAVE  THIS  MAN 

RARE  AND  PRECIOUS  TALENTS 

AND  OPPORTUNITIES 

WHICH  HE  USED 

•TO  PLUNDER  AND   OPPRESS 

HIS  FELLOW-MEN. 

Some  such  deliberate  expression  of  public  con- 
tempt, together  with  the  jailing  of  a  Haggleton  or 
two,  and  the  inheritance  tax  above  suggested,  might 
do  something  to  restrain  privileged  greed  and  to  put 
our  national  wealth  where  it  rightfully  belongs,  which, 
with  all  deference  to  my  confident  but  disunited  so- 
cialist friends,  is  more  than  their  pretty  dreams  are 
ever  likely  to  accomplish. 

C.  M. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I. — DAWN  IN  HAGGLETON'S  TENEMENTS     .        .  15 

II. — JENNY  MORAN 26 

III. — PHILLIP  AND  MARGARET 36 

IV. — JOHN  J.  HAGGLETON — MILLIONAIRE      .        .  47 

V. — FATHER  AND  SON 59 

VI. — AN  IMPORTANT  DECISION         .        .        .        .  71 

VII. — MR.  JACKSON  STARTS  LIFE  ANEW         .        .  81 

VIII. — TOILERS  AND  WRECKS 94 

IX. — MORE  WRECKS 108 

X. — AFTER  THE  BALL 120 

XI. — OUR  DAILY  BREAD 129 

XII. — HAGGLETON  TAKES  COMMAND         .        .        .  140 

XIII. — ALL'S  FAIR  IN  LOVE 151 

XIV. — HAGGLETON  WINS  A  POINT     .       .        .        .165 

XV. — THE  WOMAN  TEMPTED  HIM    .        .        .        .180 

XVI. — MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   .        .        .        .196 

XVII. — THE  MASTER  DIVER 208 

XVIII. — HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST         .        .        .  217 

XIX. — CAPITAL  AND  LABOR 230 

XX. — MORAN  FINDS  JENNY 243 

XXI. — THE  BATTLE  Is  ON 257 

XXII. — MORAN  JFiNos  His  MAN 271 

XXIII. — MARGARET  UNVANQUISHED      ....  283 
XXIV. — THE  BATTLE  WON    .        .        .       .        .        .292 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Margaret Frontispiece 

"My  wife!     It  is  her  handwriting!" 51 

' '  Do  you  really  think  that  you  can  win  him  away  from 

this  girl?" 161 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  Phillip's  father"  .  .  .  202 
"  For  the  last  time — choose  between  him  and  me  "  .  .  264 
"  It  is  the  call  of  the  blood  " 282 


Poverty  is  an  ugly  beast,  a  Frankenstein  monster, 
created  by  the  greedy  and  luxurious  rich  for  their 
own  undoing.  Poverty  begets  seven  lesser  beasts, 
Ignorance,  Disease,  Drunkenness,  Hunger,  Nakedness, 
Vice,  and  Crime ;  which  seven  war  ceaselessly  upon 
society  until  they  destroy  it.  So  it  has  been  through 
civilizations  that  have  passed  away,  rotted  by  this 
blight ;  so  it  must  be  until  the  parent  beast,  Poverty, 
is  itself  destroyed. — Phillip's  Idea. 

Poverty  is  the  lot  of  the  weak  and  the  unworthy, 
the  survival  of  the  unfittest. — Haggletoris  Idea. 

Poverty  would  disappear  if  there  were  a  fair  di- 
vision of  the  products  of  toil. — Gentle 's  Idea. 


THE  BATTLE 

CHAPTER   I 
DAWN  IN  HAGGLETON'S  TENEMENTS 

THE  night  workers  had  long  since  begun  their 
weary  tramp  home  through  the  crowded  tene- 
ment district  of  which  Market  Street  is  the  congested 
center,  the  most  densely  populated  thoroughfare  of 
New  York.  The  streets  were  still  empty  in  comparison 
with  what  they  would  be  a  few  hours  later,  but  quiet  ? 
Never. 

At  no  hour  of  the  day  or  night  is  that  quarter  of 
the  city  without  its  noises.  They  succeed  each  other 
in  a  regular,  daily  repeated  order.  One  can  tell  by 
them  each  hour  of  the  twenty-four. 

Yellowish  gas  jets  flared  dimly  behind  the  dust-ob- 
scured windows  of  the  small  grocery  stores,  open  for 
the  early  purchases  of  a  hand-to-mouth  existence. 
The  rattling  milk  wagons  had  come  and  stopped  and 
gone  two  hours  earlier;  already  the  little  mothers  of 
the  district  were  about,  little  servants  as  well,  drudges 
without  pay,  yet  most  of  them  preserving,  by  a  saving 
grace,  in  an  existence  that  is  so  near  a  curse,  the  resili- 
ency of  childhood. 

Their  hour  of  noise  would  come  later ;  a  few,  brief 
minutes  of  chattering  and  skipping  on  the  way  to 


16  THE   BATTLE 

school,  and  again  at  the  end  of  the  session,  when  they 
returned  to  new  tasks.  Meanwhile,  they  were  purchas- 
ing the  scanty  breakfast,  pushing  boldly  in  among  their 
unkempt,  unwashed  elders,  giving  their  orders  con- 
fidently and  passing  over  the  pennies  clutched  tightly 
in  their  little  fists,  or  bravely  battling  for  credit. 

A  slight  snow  had  fallen  over  night.  It  was  still 
white  on  stoops  and  cellar  doors,  but  ground  al- 
ready to  a  brownish-gray  powder  on  sidewalks  and  in 
the  street.  It  would  hardly  outlive  the  morning. 

Market  Street  looked  picturesque,  however,  for  the 
moment,  its  window  sills  outlined  in  white,  upon  which 
shone  the  dim  glow  of  gas  and  lamps  behind  drawn 
shades.  Towering  tenements  alternated  with  three- 
story  buildings,  relics  of  earlier  prosperous  days  long 
forgotten — not  even  a  tradition,  indeed,  to  their  pres- 
ent inhabitants. 

It  was  still  the  hour  consecrated  to  the  noise  of  the 
alarm  clocks.  Every  tenement  in  all  that  street  re- 
sounded with  their  rattle — the  call  to  the  daily  strug- 
gle for  bread.  Within  twenty  minutes,  generally,  the 
door  behind  which  the  clock  had  sounded  its  metallic 
warning  would  open,  and  a  muffled  figure  would 
emerge,  dinner  pail  in  hand,  to  clump  down  the  stairs 
to  an  accompaniment  of  many  sounds  and  many  odors 
— the  crying  of  children,  the  scolding  of  women,  the 
rattle  of  cups  and  pans,  the  aroma  of  coffee,  the  acrid 
smell  of  frying  bacon,  the  sweet  scent  of  doctored, 
cheap  tobacco.  And  always  coughs,  the  coughs  of  chil- 
dren, the  coughs  of  grown  people,  for  Market  Street 
is  famous  as  one  side  of  the  "  Lung  Block,"  discussed 
at  tuberculosis  congresses  the  world  over. 


HAGGLETON'S   TENEMENTS  17 

"  Fresh  air  costs  nothing,"  they  say.  Ah,  but  it  costs 
the  heat  that  it  drives  out!  The  coal  that  cooks  the 
evening  meal  is  bought  by  the  pail,  at  a  profit  to  the 
dealer  of  over  one  hundred  per  cent.  Cold  oxygen, 
therefore,  is  expensive  in  winter  for  the  poor,  for  it 
doubles  the  price  of  warmth. 

An  alarm  clock  rattled  in  a  back  room  in  one  of 
the  towering  tenements,  built  of  brick,  without  orna- 
mentation, and  made  hideous  by  row  upon  row  of  nar- 
row windows. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  stood  an  iron  stove,  rusty, 
its  silly,  useless  ornaments  coated  with  a  mixture  of 
grease  and  ashes.  Beside  the  stove  was  a  sink,  with  a 
bar  of  coarse  yellow  soap  on  a  broken  saucer,  two  tow- 
els hanging  beside  it  to  prove  that  this  was  the  wash- 
room as  well  as  the  kitchen  section  of  the  "  apartment." 

The  alarm  clock  stopped  ringing.  A  young  woman 
seated  at  a  table  in  the  other  corner  of  the  room  had 
not  looked  up,  nor  stopped  for  a  moment  in  her  occu- 
pation of  gilding  plaster  figures  with  a  brush  which  she 
dipped  from  time  to  time  in  a  pan.  A  lamp,  shaded  so 
as  to  throw  all  its  light  directly  upon  her  work,  stood 
beside  her. 

A  man's  sleepy,  quarrelsome  voice  came  from  the 
shadows  at  the  side  of  the  room. 

"  What  time  is  it,  Jenny  ?  " 

"  After  seven.    You'd  better  get  up." 

"  The  raffle  clock  says  seven — the  installment  clock 
stopped  when  you  stopped  payin',  Moran." 

It  was  a  man's  voice  that  volunteered  this  informa- 
tion, a  younger  and  fresher  voice  than  that  of  the  first 
speaker. 


1 8  THE   BATTLE 

A  child  whimpered.    Another  coughed. 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  the  first  voice  gruffly. 

The  girl  addressed  as  Jenny  rose  and  took  the  shade 
off  the  lamp,  thus  lighting  up  the  entire  room. 

She  was  strikingly  handsome,  in  a  buxom,  sensu- 
ous way,  but  the  droop  of  resignation  of  her  mouth 
struggled  with  the  line  of  revolt  that  met  it  front  the 
delicate  nostrils  downward.  Her  eyes  shone  dark  un- 
der the  arched  eyebrows.  In  them  there  was  unrest, 
and  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  a  vague  wonder,  and 
a  look  of  hunger  of  mind  and  heart. 

The  girl  went  over  to  the  stove,  raked  out  the  ashes 
listlessly,  and  set  over  the  fire  a  coffeepot  that  had 
been  kept  warm  ever  since  she  had  begun  her  work,  at 
five  o'clock,  the  hour  of  the  noise  of  rattling  milk  cans. 

The  brighter  light  which  now  filled  the  room  re- 
vealed two  iron  bedsteads,  in  one  of  them  a  man  and 
two  children,  and  in  the  other  the  younger  man  who 
had  made  the  facetious  remark  about  the  installment 
clock,  which  had  stopped  going  when  Moran  had 
stopped  paying.  Both  beds  were  tousled  and  untidy. 

The  floor  was  mostly  bare,  of  worn,  uneven,  un- 
matched boards.  A  ragged  rug  of  unexpectedly 
good  quality,  its  colors  coated  with  dirt,  suggested  that 
it,  at  least,  had  seen  better  days.  So  did  a  carved  ma- 
hogany hatstand. 

On  a  roughly  painted  mantelpiece  stood,  side  by 
side,  the  alarm  clock,  the  "  installment  clock,"  and  an 
elaborate  French  marble  clock,  also  out  of  order.  It 
gave  the  third  note  of  vanished  well-being. 

Moran  sat  up  in  bed.  Jenny  returned  to  her  work, 
sitting  down  with  her  back  toward  the  beds. 


HAGGLETON'S   TENEMENTS  ig 

"  Can't  sleep  with  that  kid  coughing  and  kicking," 
grumbled  Moran,  tossing  aside  the  grimy  bed  cov- 
erings. 

He  drew  on  his  shoes,  hitched  up  the  trousers  in 
which  he  had  slept,  crossed  over  to  the  sink  and  washed 
his  face  and  hands.  Then  he  turned  to  a  bare  table, 
sat  down,  and  said : 

"  Good  morning,  Jenny." 

"  Morning,  pop." 

"  Do  I  get  any  breakfast?  " 

"  Nothing  but  bread  and  coffee,"  Jenny  replied  in- 
differently, as  she  worked  with  feverish  haste  at  her 
task  of  gilding  the  plaster  statuettes. 

"  Bread  and  coffee !  "  Moran  snarled.  "  That's  a 
fine  meal  to  keep  a  man  going  twelve  hours  a  day  in 
a  damp,  dirty  bake  cellar." 

He  got  up,  poured  himself  a  cup  of  coffee,  cut  off  a 
hunk  of  bread  and  began  to  eat,  grumbling  to  him- 
self the  while,  his  vague,  watery  eyes  wandering  along 
the  wall,  staring  unseeingly  at  the  cheap  color  prints  of 
the  rulers  of  Europe  that  formed  its  incongruous  or- 
nament. 

A  large  picture  of  a  young  man  in  diving  costume, 
a  veritable  Hercules,  his  heavy  helmet  resting  on  his 
arm,  occupied  a  place  of  honor  all  by  itself  on  the  wall 
near  the  door  of  the  closet  that  served  as  Jenny's  bed- 
room. 

Moran  had  a  weak,  discouraged  face,  with  incon- 
gruously scowling  eyes.  If  he  had  ever  had  a  Chris- 
tian name,  it  had  long  been  forgotten.  He  was 
"  pop  "  to  his  only  remaining  child,  Jenny ;  "  Moran  " 
to  everybody  else  in  the  bakery  where  he  worked,  in 


20  THE   BATTLE 

the  corner  saloon,  and  at  the  meetings  of  the  timid, 
half-hearted  revolutionaries  which  he  visited  from  time 
to  time. 

The  younger  man  had  propped  himself  up  in  bed, 
lighted  a  candle,  and  was  now  reading  a  paper.  He 
was  Joe  Caffrey,  the  widower  of  Jenny's  elder  sister 
who  had  died  three  weeks  before.  Now,  like  the  two 
children,  he  was  a  "  boarder  "  of  Jenny's. 

A  typical  child  of  the  New  York  slums,  Joe  had  a 
fund  of  humor,  which  found  endless  food  in  his  dis- 
gruntled father-in-law.  He  hated  work,  and  managed, 
somehow  or  other,  to  live  without  it  for  long  stretches 
at  a  time.  Jenny  had  once  been  a  reliable  source  of 
funds  for  him — good  for  an  occasional  "  fiver  " — but 
all  that  was  over  now.  In  his  heart  Joe  considered 
her  a  fool.  Why  should  she  struggle  with  poverty, 
when 

Joe  read  on,  rustling  the  paper.  Moran  gulped  down 
his  bread  and  coffee;  Jenny  continued  her  incessant 
painting  of  the  plaster  casts.  The  two  children  were 
whispering  together. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Joe,  looking  up  from  his  paper, 
"  here's  a  description  of  John  J.  Haggleton's  private 
yacht.  He  sails  to-day  on  a  cruise." 

"  Haggleton !  "  growled  Moran.  "  That's  our  land- 
lord. I'd  like  to  have  him  here !  " 

Joe  Caffrey  kept  on  reading. 

"  Oh,  say,  listen  to  this !  "  he  exclaimed :  "  '  The 
walls  are  paneled  in  satinwood ;  under  foot  are  velvet 
carpets  twelve  feet  wide,  without  seam.  Electric 
lights  shine  everywhere.  Closets  open  mysteri- 
ously out  of  the  walls.  It  will  take  no  less  than 


HAGGLETON'S   TENEMENTS  21 

five  thousand  dollars  a  month  to  run  this  ocean 
palace.  .  .  . '  " 

Moran  struck  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  jumped 
up  in  a  rage. 

"  Damned  millionaire !  "  he  shouted. 

"  Oh — well,"  remarked  his  son-in-law,  stretching 
out  his  arms  luxuriously  and  pulling  the  thin,  patched 
quilt  over  his  chest,  "  oh,  well,  I  think  I  will  take  a 
yachtin'  cruise  myself.  I'm  gettin'  awfully  tired, 
dontcherknow." 

Moran  scowled.  It  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  work, 
so  he  would  have  to  vent  his  hatred  of  the  rich  upon 
the  dough  he  kneaded.  He  took  his  hat  from  the  tar- 
nished chandelier,  and  slapped  it  on  his  head.  For 
some  reason  or  other  he  always  hung  his  hat  there, 
never  on  the  rack.  It  was  broad  daylight  now.  Jen- 
ny extinguished  the  lamp,  Joe  blew  out  his  candle. 
Through  the  cheap,  draggly  lace  curtains  of  the  win- 
dows a  superb  view  of  the  East  River  and  the  Brook- 
lyn Bridge  was  revealed. 

As  Moran  opened  the  door,  his  daughter  stopped 
him. 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  at  Mrs.  Binney's,"  she  said, 
"  and  ask  her  to  come  around  and  look  at  Benny's 
cough.  He  might  have  croup." 

"  Benny !  "  snarled  Moran.  "  It's  a  rotten  idea 
having  those  kids  here,  anyway.  Why  don't  they  stay 
with  their  father?" 

"  Their  father,"  answered  his  daughter  practically, 
going  over  to  the  children's  bed,  "  their  father  pays 
us  four  dollars  a  month  for  their  board." 

Moran  turned  to  go.     But  before  he  closed  the 


22  THE   BATTLE 

door  behind  him,  he  growled :  "  This  is  a  hell  of  a 
home !  " 

The  children — a  girl  of  ten  and  a  boy  two  years 
younger — whimpered.  Benny  coughed  again,  then 
wailed.  His  sister  put  her  arms  around  him  and 
soothed  him. 

"  Don't  cry,  you  star  boarders,"  called  Joe  good- 
naturedly.  "  You're  goin'  to  have  presents — do  you 
hear?  Beautiful  presents.  Santa  Claus  forgot  you  at 
Christmas,  but  that  was  a  mistake." 

The  two  youngsters  sat  up  in  bed,  and  gazed  at  him 
with  eager  expectancy. 

"  What  are  you  telling  them  that  for  ? "  asked 
Jenny  indignantly. 

"  Never  you  mind.     Come  here,  Emmy !  " 

The  girl  clambered  out  of  bed,  and  went  to  him  in 
her  nightgown.  Benny  started  to  follow,  but  was  re- 
strained by  Jenny. 

"  Now,  listen,"  continued  Joe.  "  In  a  minute,  just 
as  soon  as  I  get  up,  that  sympathetic  and  good-lookin' 
lady  over  there  is  goin'  to  lend  me  two  dollars." 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  said  the  sympathetic  and  good- 
looking  lady,  with  much  energy. 

"  Them  two  dollars,"  continued  Joe,  without  pay- 
ing the  slightest  attention  to  her,  "  I'm  goin'  to  take 
over  to  Wallace's  pool  room  and  play  on  a  sure  thing 
—Corn  Cob." 

"  Corn  Cob,"  repeated  Emmy  uncomprehendingly. 

"Yes.  It's  a  sure  pipe.  Why  don't  you  laugh? 
It's  a  cinch  at  fifteen  to  one.  So  I'll  come  back  this 
afternoon  with  thirty  bones." 

"  Gee !    Thirty  bones !  "    The  child's  eyes  shone. 


HAGGLETON'S   TENEMENTS  23 

"  Of  which  thirty  bones,"  Joe  explained  distinctly, 
watching  Jenny,  "  ten  go  to  the  sympathetic  and  good- 
lookin'  lady,  leavin'  twenty  for  personal  expenses  and 
— and — miscellaneous  charities.  Ahem !  " 

"  Fifteen  to  one — a  sure  thing,"  repeated  Joe  im- 
pressively. 

"  Nothin'  doin',"  said  his  sister-in-law. 

"  That  means,"  resumed  Joe,  again  pretending  not 
to  hear  her,  and  addressing  himself  to  Emmy,  "  a  new 
doll  for  you,  and — what  do  you  want,  Benny  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  yacht,"  shrilled  the  little  fellow. 

"  Ha,  ha !  He  wants  a  yacht  like  that  millionaire 
Haggleton !  All  right,  my  son,  you  get  a  yacht." 

Jenny  faced  him. 

"  Better  cut  out  pool  rooms,  Joe,  and  look  for  a 
job." 

"  I  might  find  one,"  he  shrugged.  "  Emmy,  hand  me 
them  cigarettes  out  of  my  vest  pocket.  So!  Now  a 
match.  Right.  There's  a  good  girl.  Now,  take  Benny 
into  the  other  room,  in  Lizzie's  bed." 

Emmy  went  over  to  her  brother,  wrapped  him  up, 
took  him  in  her  arms,  and  obediently  disappeared  with 
him,  closing  the  door  behind  them. 

Joe,  who,  like  Moran,  had  slept  half  dressed,  now 
rose,  washed  himself  hastily,  whistling  cheerily  the 
while,  and  keeping  his  cigarette  alight.  Then  he  re- 
turned to  the  subject  of  his  talk. 

"  You  hinted  at  lookin'  for  a  job,  Jenny,"  he  ob- 
served, "  but  that  supposes  a  desire  for  work,  and  in 
me  that  would  mean  sweepin'  reform.  Now,  reform 
may  suit  you,  my  dear  sister-in-law,  but " 

"  Cut  it  out,"  said  Jenny  sharply.  "  That's  enough." 


24  THE   BATTLE 

She  blushed  painfully  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  No  offense,"  soothed  Joe.  "  Here,  have  a  ciga- 
rette?" 

"Those  things?    Ugh!" 

"  I  know  you  prefer  Turkish.     Here." 

He  fished  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  cigarette,  and 
threw  it  at  her.  She  caught  it  deftly,  lighted  it,  and 
inhaled  the  smoke  with  keen  relish. 

"  If  a  girl  will  be  an  idiot,"  continued  Joe —  "  It's 
all  right  to  keep  straight,  but  why  go  to  extremes  ?  " 

He  watched  her  closely,  curiously.  She  had  "  re- 
formed," given  up  finery  and  ease — but  why?  He 
knew  the  reason  she  gave,  but  he  did  not  believe  it 
to  be  the  true  one. 

Why  had  she  suddenly  returned  to  poverty,  squalor, 
and  grinding  toil?  She  was  young,  handsome,  she 
loved  comfort,  she  hated  work.  Comfort,  ease  were 
hers  for  the  taking.  What  had  happened  could  never 
be  undone,  anyway.  Why  pay  the  cost  and  then  re- 
nounce ? 

She  stood  still,  her  well-formed  hands,  roughened 
by  toil  at  cooking  stove  and  washboard,  folded  before 
her.  She  did  not  look  at  him,  she  did  not  appear  to 
see  him.  His  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  her 
glance.  A  gleam  of  intelligence  came  into  his  face. 

"  I  know  why  you  done  it,"  he  said,  suddenly  en- 
lightened. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  wasn't  for  my  poor  dead  Liz  that  you  reformed, 
it  was  for  him!  " 

He  pointed  at  the  picture  of  the  diver  on  the  wall. 

"  Yes,  for  Phil,"  she  said. 


HAGGLETON'S   TENEMENTS  25 

"  Yes,  for  Phil,"  he  repeated. 

Jenny  smoked  on  quietly  for  a  while.  Then  she 
said  tersely : 

"  You're  not  such  a  fool,  Joe." 

"  Oh,  that  was  easy,"  he  returned  modestly.  "  You 
always  have  your  eyes  on  that  picture.  So  you're 
stuck  on  him  ?  " 

"  Good  and  plenty." 

It  was  a  common  slang  phrase,  but  Joe  felt  its  ir- 
revocable intensity. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I'll  stand  in  with  you.  But 
we'll  have  to  sidetrack  the  other  maiden." 

Jenny  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  burst  out: 

"  The  high-toned  girl  at  Mrs.  Binney's  boarding 
house?  " 

"  Sure.  The  trained  nurse.  Miss  Margaret  Law- 
rence. She's  the  only  peach  on  the  tree  for  Phil." 

Jenny  clinched  her  hands.  Her  eyes  narrowed  and 
grew  darker,  her  mouth  grim. 

"  She'll  never  get  him !    Never !  " 

She  spoke  the  words  with  subdued  fierceness. 

"All  right.  I'll  help  you.  You  need  help,  so 
do  I—  Do  I  get  that  two  dollars  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  don't  help." 

Jenny  looked  at  him,  opened  her  lips,  closed  them 
again,  and  returned  to  her  plaster  figures,  still  smok- 
ing. Joe  continued  to  watch  her. 

A  knock  at  the  door  caused  them  both  to  look  to- 
ward it. 


CHAPTER   II 

JENNY  MORAN 

THE  knock  was  repeated. 
Joe  looked  at  Jenny. 

"  Come  in !  "  she  said. 

The  door  opened,  admitting  a  handsome,  stalwart 
young  man  of  twenty-five  or  so.  His  face  was  tanned 
by  exposure,  and  he  carried  his  broad  shoulders  with 
an  air  of  responsibility  that  rose  to  the  dignity  of  au- 
thority in  his  frank,  manly,  somewhat  stern  face.  It 
was  the  original  of  the  diver's  picture  of  the  wall — 
Phillip  Ames,  a  man  placed  above  his  environment  by 
the  arduous  training  of  his  work  and  its  ample  wage. 
In  the  decisiveness  of  his  movements,  the  alertness 
of  his  look,  the  controlled  readiness  of  all  his  facul- 
ties, he  seemed  older  than  his  years.  But  his  smile 
was  engaging,  almost  boyish. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said  in  a  clear,  pleasing  voice. 

Jenny  had  surreptitiously  hidden  her  cigarette  un- 
der the  tray  of  images,  and  now  came  forward  with  a 
face  shining  with  happiness. 

"  Good  morning,  Phil,"  she  said.  "  I'm  glad  to 
see  you." 

Joe  looked  at  his  sister-in-law.  The  confession  of 
her  love  of  a  moment  ago  was  corroborated  by  the 
adoring  look  in  her  eyes. 

26 


JENNY  MORAN  27 

"  Your  father  stopped  at  the  boarding  house  a  mo- 
ment ago,"  explained  Phillip.  "  He  says  that  Benny 
is  sick." 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  coughing  a  good  deal." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  returned  the  diver  with  the  care- 
less sympathy  of  a  man  in  perfect  health.  "  Mrs. 
Binney  sent  me  over  with  this  croup  kettle." 

He  took  a  package  from  under  his  arm,  placed  it  on 
the  table  with  the  circumspection  which  those  who  are 
used  to  lifting  great  weights  show  when  they  handle 
fragile  things.  He  snapped  the  string  as  if  it  were 
a  bit  of  sewing  cotton,  undid  the  brown  paper,  and 
with  infinite  care  took  out  the  kettle.  Then  he  depos- 
ited it  on  the  mantelpiece  beside  the  three  clocks. 

"  Thanks !  "  said  Jenny. 

Behind  his  turned  back  she  motioned  Joe  to  leave 
the  room. 

Joe  made  a  grimace  at  her,  lifted  his  eyes  heaven- 
ward, puckered  up  his  lips  in  imitation  of  a  kiss,  and, 
placing  his  hands  over  each  other  on  his  heart,  gave 
himself  a  hug. 

Jenny  frowned  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

Her  brother-in-law  stopped  his  fooling,  and  sud- 
denly became  quite  businesslike.  Here  was  a  chance 
for  a  bargain.  Corn  Cob  at  fifteen  to  one !  He  must 
have  those  two  dollars. 

So,  just  as  Phillip  turned,  he  significantly  held  up 
two  fingers. 

Jenny  nodded  eagerly. 

"  Shall  I  get  that  medicine  you  wanted  ?  "  he  asked 
with  tender  solicitude. 

"  Yes.    Here's  the  money." 


2g  THE   BATTLE 

She  produced  her  purse,  always  carefully  guarded, 
often  strenuously  defended,  and  handed  over  the 
money.  It  nearly  left  her  penniless  for  the  rest  of  the 
week,  but  what  did  she  care  ?  To  be  alone  with  Phil ! 

Joe  hung  his  battered  derby  hat  over  his  right  eye, 
and  gave  what  he  thought  was  an  imitation  of  a  heavy 
swell  striding  up  Fifth  Avenue,  then  changed  suddenly 
to  a  more  realistic  one  of  a  jockey  bending  over  his 
mount's  neck  in  the  home  stretch.  In  the  doorway  he 
turned,  took  off  his  hat,  bowed  deferentially,  and  passed 
out. 

"  Funny  fellow,"  said  Phillip  in  an  enigmatic  tone. 

"  I  wish  he  would  go  to  work,"  answered  Jenny, 
seating  herself  at  the  table  to  resume  her  work.  She 
pulled  the  tray  forward  a  little  more,  in  order  to  hide, 
completely,  the  cigarette  she  had  been  smoking. 

The  young  diver  took  a  chair  near  her.  Under  his 
gaze  she  became  confused,  dropped  her  brush,  and 
looked  up,  meeting  his  clear,  deep-blue  eyes  timidly. 
She  saw  his  fine  head,  his  bronzed,  muscular  neck,  ex- 
posed by  the  turn-down  collar  of  his  flannel  shirt,  his 
straight,  broad  shoulders — the  physical  perfection  of 
this  man  who  was  her  demigod.  A  wave  of  passion- 
ate, yet  worshipful,  admiration  swept  over  her.  She 
realized  that  her  love  for  him  was  the  deepest,  most 
sacred  feeling  she  had  ever  known. 

He  laughed  a  little,  embarrassed  by  the  intensity  of 
her  gaze. 

"Will  you  mind  if  I  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"  You  know  I  don't,  Phil ;  I  love  a  good  cigarette." 

He  had  already  placed  a  cigarette  between  his  lips, 
and  was  returning  the  box  to  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 


JENNY   MORAN  29 

Now  he  produced  it  again,  and  held  it  out  to  her  hesi- 
tatingly, almost  unwillingly. 

"  You  mean — you  don't  want  one  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  hastily.  "  I  have — I  have 
given  up  smoking,  you  know." 

She  looked  down  at  the  trembling  hands  in  her  lap. 
Her  cheeks  burned,  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  remind  her — and  him — of  that  brief 
past  which  she  so  regretted,  for  his  sake.  It  was  al- 
ways thus  when  they  were  together.  A  chance  word, 
innocently  spoken,  always  brought  up  what  she  wished 
that  she  could  forget,  still  more  that  she  could  make 
him  forget. 

That  was  her  punishment,  she  often  told  herself.  It 
had  given  the  resigned  droop  to  her  mouth.  But  must 
it  last?  Was  there  to  be  no  forgiveness  for  her?  Her 
heart  rose  in  indignation.  Then  a  sudden  thought 
gave  her  an  added  stab  of  pain.  She  had  lied  to  him, 
meanly,  despicably.  To  appear  worthier  in  his  eyes, 
she  had  refused  his  proffered  cigarette — she  had  told 
him  that  she  had  given  up  smoking.  And  under  the 
tray  before  her,  within  reach  of  his  hand,  lay  the 
crushed  butt  she  had  been  enjoying,  with  all  the  eager 
relish  of  the  confirmed  cigarette  fiend,  at  the  moment 
of  his  knock. 

Joe  had  given  it  to  her,  Joe  who  was  always  tempt- 
ing her  in  little  things;  Joe  who  had  never  scrupled 
to  accept  her  aid  in  those  days  she  could  not  forget ; 
Joe  who  had  told  her  but  a  moment  ago  that  she  was 
a  fool! 

She  looked  up.  Phillip  was  smoking  with  the  uncon- 
cern of  their  class,  which  is  not  made  uncomfortable 


30  THE   BATTLE 

by  oases  of  silence  in  the  desert  of  millions  of  grains 
of  small  talk.  He  smoked  well,  with  unconscious 
grace,  slowly,  appreciatively,  enjoying  a  sensuous 
pleasure,  not  indulging  an  uncontrollable  craving. 

She  fell  to  watching  his  hand  as  it  put  the  little  roll 
of  paper  and  tobacco  to  his  lips.  It  was  a  beautiful 
hand,  far  more  shapely  than  she  realized,  muscular  yet 
slender — the  hand  of  a  gentleman. 

Phil  looked  at  her  for  a  little  while  longer  in  silence, 
then  said  easily : 

"  Well,  and  how  are  things  going?  " 

"  Rotten,  thank  you." 

Her  tone  was  the  essence  of  insurgent  bitterness. 

The  man  leaned  forward  sympathetically,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees. 

"  Don't  you  feel — er — happier  ?  "  he  asked  softly. 

Her  self-control  gave  way.  What  was  the  use  of 
keeping  straight?  What  was  her  reward?  Misery, 
slavery,  and  unrequited  love!  Kind  always,  helpful, 
too,  he  seemed  to  keep  her  at  arm's  distance,  if,  indeed, 
he  was  aware  at  all  of  what  she  felt  for  him.  So  she 
burst  out: 

"  Happier  ?  This  is  where  I  live,  in  one  of  John  J. 
Haggleton's  tenements !  Do  you  see  anything  here  to 
make  me  happier?  I  get  up  at  five,  I  cook  and  scrub 
and  wash,  and  paint  these  plaster  creatures  with  that 
gilt  stuff  for  ten  hours  a  day  !  At  six  cents  per  dozen ! 
Do  you  see  anything  in  that  to  make  me  happier  ?  " 

The  man,  unaware  that  he  himself  was  the  cause  of 
this  outbreak,  looked  at  her  in  helpless  distress.  He 
was  dumfounded.  He  had  fancied  that  this  brand 
snatched  from  the  burning  was  at  least  grateful  for 


JENNY   MORAN  31 

her  escape,  even  if  not  happy  as  yet,  with  that  past  to 
haunt  her  sleep  and  embitter  her  waking  hours.  And 
now — she  seemed  to  regret  what  she  had  given  up  so 
readily,  so  easily,  so  gladly! 

He  felt  staggered,  frightened.  Then,  desirous  more 
than  ever  to  be  of  help,  to  make  easy  for  her  those 
early  steps  which  appeared  to  be  so  unexpectedly  hard 
and  difficult,  he  said  very  gravely : 

"  You  must  be  glad  that  you  have  given  up  the  old 
life?  You  are  doing  right,  anyhow." 

She  looked  at  him  almost  with  scorn.  A  kiss,  a 
caress,  nay,  a  mere  touch  of  the  hand  would  have 
quieted  her,  would  have  rewarded  her  for  these  weeks 
of  colorless  existence,  for  the  extreme  bodily  fatigue 
and  the  ravening  heart-hunger.  A  single  word  of 
affection  would  have  given  her  courage  and  strength 
to  persevere,  and  here  he  was  preaching  to  her,  assur- 
ing her  that  she  was  "  doing  right !  " 

By  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  Jenny  became 
apathetic,  then  resentful. 

"Doing  right?"  she  echoed  scornfully.  "Who 
cares  whether  I  do  right  ?  " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Jenny.     You  know  we  all  care." 

"  All?  Who,  all?  "  she  persisted.  "  Does  Joe  Caf- 
f rey  care  ?  Nit !  He'd  rather  have  me  go  back  to  the 
old  life,  so  he  could  work  me  for  a  ten  or  a  twenty 
when  he  was  broke !  Oh,  I  guess  yes !  " 

She  saw  him  wince,  and,  womanlike,  though  every 
word  was  a  stab  to  her,  she  poured  out  upon  him  the 
slang  of  the  streets.  She  painted  herself  blacker  than 
she  was,  assumed  a  callousness  that  had  never  been 
hers  even  in  her  most  reckless  days.  She  gave  full 


32  THE   BATTLE 

sway  to  the  unreasonable,  the  unreasoning  impulse  to 
hurt  him,  to  hurt  herself,  in  revenge  for  the  injustice 
of  fate. 

He  listened  in  motionless  silence,  pale,  a  look  of  pain 
in  his  eyes.  Unversed  in  the  ways  of  women,  he  failed 
to  understand,  and  when  her  mood  had  run  its  course, 
and  was  succeeded  by  another  revulsion  of  feeling,  his 
bewilderment  only  grew. 

She  sat  quiet  now  but  for  her  trembling  ringers, 
nervously  jerking  and  twisting  at  her  dress,  and 
the  quivering  of  her  lip,  which  she  bit  viciously,  with 
her  small  white  teeth.  She  stared  stonily  before  her, 
but  her  eyes  were  dry.  If  she  had  only  wept,  his 
task  might  have  been  easier.  His  understanding  of 
women  did  not  go  beyond  tears. 

"  Then,"  he  stammered  at  last,  "  then  ...  it 
is  only  your  promise  to  Liz  that  makes  you  do  this  ?  " 

There  was  scorn  in  her  eyes,  the  age-old  scorn  of 
the  woman  for  the  blundering,  purblind  male. 

"  It  isn't  even  that,"  she  explained  patiently.  "  Yes, 
I  promised  Liz  that  I  would  keep  straight — but  Liz 
is  dead;  she'd  never  know  what  I  do,  or  if  she 
did  know  she  would  see  that  this  life  is  too  hard 
for  me." 

She  looked  around  the  miserable  room,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"  The  only  thing  that  keeps  me  from  going 
back " 

"  Don't  say  that." 

"  It's  true,  Phil,  it's  true.  The  only  thing  is  ... 
I  don't  want  to  make  you  feel  bad.  That's  the  only 
reason." 


JENNY   MORAN  33 

She  fixed  upon  him  her  eloquent  dark  eyes,  and 
asked  softly,  with  infinite  longing: 

"  It  would  make  you  feel  bad,  wouldn't  it,  Phil  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  would,  Jenny." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  gratefully,  "  I  know  Liz  died 
only  three  weeks  ago,  but  it  seems  a  year.  She  made 
us  both  kneel  down  by  her  bed.  I  had  on  a  big  hat 
with  red  feathers.  You  remember?  Then  she  made 
me  promise,  and  she  made  you  promise  to  help  me." 

"  I'll  keep  my  promise.    I'll  help  you." 

Jenny  continued  to  stare  straight  before  her,  into 
that  near  past  that  already  seemed  so  far,  so  very 
far  away.  She  continued  musingly: 

"  I  guess  she  thought  that  I  might  do  it  for  you. 
She  knew  how  much  I  have  always  cared  for  you; 
always,  Phil,  ever  since  we  were  little  kids  together." 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  added  with  soft  regret, 
in  which  there  lay  a  world  of  meaning : 

"  Ah,  if  I  hadn't  married  George !  " 

"Jenny!" 

"  Well,  it  spoiled  my  life  all  right.  It's  true.  My 
life !  Look  at  it !  I  say  I  have  never  had  a  chance !  " 

She  struck  the  table  with  her  open  hand,  and  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

Phillip,  touched,  bent  toward  her  and  answered: 

"  You  have  a  chance  now,  Jenny." 

The  words  aroused  in  her  a  false  hope.  Could  it 
be  ?  She  leaned  nearer  him,  her  face  close  to  his. 

"  You  used  to  think  me  pretty,"  she  whispered. 
"  Phil — you  couldn't,  you  wouldn't " 

He  hastily  shrank  back,  and  then  instantly  regretted 
the  impulsive  action.  But  Jenny  had  understood, 


34  THE   BATTLE 

"  What  a  fool  I  am !  "  she  cried.  "  How  can  you 
care  for  me  when  you  love  another  woman  ?  I  know ! 
Oh,  I  know!" 

Phillip  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  struck  on  that  girl,  that 
trained  nurse  at  the  boarding  house." 

"  Miss  Lawrence  ?    Who  has  told  you  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  told  me.    I  am  a  woman." 

She  glanced  at  him  searchingly,  and  read  the  truth 
in  his  face.  Controlling  the  pain  at  her  heart,  hiding 
the  desolation  that  had  suddenly  blighted  her  life,  she 
asked  question  after  question,  bravely  taking  each 
blow  that  came  with  the  assenting  nod  of  the  head 
which  was  his  only  answer. 

"  Have  you  asked  her  yet  ?  Did  you  ask  her  last 
night  ?  And  she  said  '  Yes  '  ?  I  want  you  to  be  happy, 
Phil — I  congratulate  you." 

She,  too,  had  risen.  She  was  pale,  but  quiet.  Her 
voice  did  not  falter  as  she  went  unflinchingly  on  to  the 
end  of  her  ordeal. 

"  You  won't  be  different  with  me,  now  that  you  are 
in  love  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  Jenny." 

"  We'll  be  friends  just  the  same?  " 

"  You  bet  we  will !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  which  she  shook  like  a  loyal 
comrade.  Then  she  added  pathetically : 

"  Because  that's  all  I  have  in  the  world — your 
friendship,  Phil." 

The  final,  the  most  difficult  question  had  been 
reached.  She  asked  it  without  a  tremor. 


JENNY   MORAN  35 

"And  you  won't  tell  her?" 

"  You  mean  about " 

"  About  my  past  life,  yes.  She  is  a  good  girl,  and 
a  good  girl  never  forgives." 

"  She's  a  splendid,  broad-minded  girl,"  he  pro- 
tested ;  "  she  would " 

"  Perhaps  she  would.  But  I'd  be  ashamed  if  she 
knew.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  You're  right,  Jenny ;  I'll  not  tell  her." 

The  woman  rose  above  her  environment,  her  ante- 
cedents, her  past.  With  natural,  unconscious  dignity 
she  bowed  slightly,  and  said : 

"  Thank  you,  Phil." 

A  step  was  heard  on  the  stair.  It  approached  the 
door. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  the  diver,  his  eyes  alight  with 
joy. 


CHAPTER   III 

PHILLIP  AND  MARGARET 

COME  in !  "  called  Jenny  in  answer  to  the  knock 
at  the  door,  which  opened  to  admit  Margaret 
Lawrence,  her  nurse's  uniform  partly  hidden  under  a 
dark  coat. 

She  was  not  so  tall  as  Jenny.  The  two  women 
formed,  indeed,  a  striking  contrast.  Margaret  was 
dark  and  vigorous;  exquisitely  neat  in  her  dress,  she 
carried  herself  well  and  had  the  tranquil  assurance  of 
movement  and  speech  of  her  profession.  Jenny,  her 
golden  hair  piled  in  a  disorderly  mass  on  top  of  her 
head,  her  cheap  black  gown  unfastened  at  the  throat, 
had  the  discouraged,  indifferent  ways  of  the  woman 
whom  poverty  has  already  conquered. 

Just  then,  having  learned  that  Phillip  was  lost  to 
her,  dejection  accentuated  this  indifference.  She 
slouched  forward  with  the  laggard  effort  of  the  wom- 
an overworked  and  underfed,  yet  even  so  there  re- 
mained visible  a  trace  of  the  careless,  unconscious 
grace  that  must  have  distinguished  her  in  better  days, 
that  would  be  hers  again  in  more  favorable  circum- 
stances. 

Margaret  gave  Phillip  a  dazzling  smile,  nodded 
cheerily  to  Jenny,  and  said : 

"  Good  morning." 

She  immediately,  however,  turned  to  Phillip,  who 
36 


PHILLIP   AND   MARGARET  37 

took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  said,  forgetful  of  all  but 
his  new-found  happiness: 

"  How  beautiful  you  look  this  morning !  " 

"  You  foolish  boy — have  you  been  thinking  of 
me?" 

Again  she  smiled.  Jenny,  to  whom  the  sight  of 
their  frank  delight  in  each  other  was  torture,  made  an 
involuntary  movement.  Phillip,  bending  forward  to 
kiss  Margaret,  shrank  back,  turned  around  and  said : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot.  Margaret,  I  want 
you  to  know  my  old  friend,  Jenny  Moran — Miss  Law- 
rence." 

Jenny  nodded. 

"  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  she  said,  but 
her  tone  was  hostile. 

She  could  not  bear  to  see  these  two  together,  she 
could  not  bear  to  think  of  leaving  them  there  alone. 
What  should  she  do?  She  went  slowly,  uncertainly 
over  to  the  hatstand,  trying  to  make  up  her  mind.  The 
sound  of  a  kiss,  faint — imaginary,  perhaps— drove  her 
to  a  decision.  She  snatched  her  hat  from  its  peg, 
pinned  it  on  her  head  with  trembling,  fumbling 
fingers,  slipped  into  her  coat — cheap  finery  that  she 
had  brought  back  with  her  out  of  her  past,  and  that 
looked  already  draggled  and  worn — and  said,  with 
feverish  decision : 

"  Sorry  that  I  can't  stay,  but  I  must  be  at  the  factory 
at  eight." 

Margaret  looked  at  her,  a  little  astonished  at  her 
curt  tone,  but  she  answered  readily : 

"  I  will  write  down  the  instructions  for  the  treat- 
ment of  the  child." 


38  THE   BATTLE 

"  All  right,"  said  Jenny,  almost  insolently.  "  Good- 
by." 

She  stared  for  a  moment  into  her  unconscious  rival's 
eyes,  then  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind 
her. 

"  She's  a  little  crude  sometimes,"  explained  Phillip 
apologetically,  "  but  she  has  a  good  heart." 

"  She  is  very  pretty.  If  she  were  properly  dressed 
and  took  care  of  her  hair " 

"  She  has  had  a  very  hard  life.  I'd  be  glad,  dear, 
if  you — er — if  you  would  be  a  little  kind  to  her." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Phillip." 

Then,  with  a  look  at  the  door  which  had  been 
closed  so  noisily  but  a  moment  before,  she  added,  half 
sadly,  half  whimsically: 

"  That  is,  if  she  will  allow  me  to." 

"  Allow  you  to  be  kind  to  her  ?  Why,  Margaret,  of 
course." 

"  She  certainly  did  not  make  any  advances.  And 
if  you  could  have  seen  the  look  she  gave  me  just  now 
as  she  went  out !  " 

Margaret  shook  her  head  with  a  puzzled  frown. 
Then  she  laughed. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  I  can  do  to  make  you 
glad  ?  "  she  asked  coquettishly. 

Their  eyes  met ;  Jenny  was  forgotten. 

Phillip  drew  her,  unresisting,  into  his  arms. 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible,"  he  whispered ;  "  it  is 
too  wonderful." 

"What  is?" 

"  You— this." 

He  strained  her  to  him. 


PHILLIP   AND    MARGARET 


39 


"  I  am  not  wonderful,  Phillip !  I  am  just  a  lonely 
little  trained  nurse." 

"  Are  you  lonely  now  ?  " 

"  Now  ?    No,  dear.    Never,  never  again." 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  offered  him  her 
tenderly  smiling  mouth.  He  kissed  her  fondly, 
reverently,  thankfully.  Thus  they  stood  for  sev- 
eral moments,  silent,  in  the  exquisite  joy  of  their 
young  love. 

The  woman  was  the  first  to  return  to  the  present 
and  the  work  at  hand.  She  regretfully  freed  herself 
from  his  clasp,  and  pushed  him  from  her  with  gentle 
resolution. 

"  This  is  most  unprofessional,"  she  said,  trying  to  be 
severe.  "  I  am  here  to  look  after  a  sick  child." 

She  glanced  about  the  room,  alert  and  businesslike. 

"  Where  is  the  patient  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  there.    Do  not  go  in  yet,  Margaret." 

She  temporized  half  unwillingly.  Her  eyes  took  in 
every  detail  of  the  neglected,  disorderly  room. 

Articles  were  thrown  at  haphazard  on  the  floor  that 
might  just  as  well  be  hanging  from  nails,  a  frying  pan 
had  the  grease  of  yesterday's  meal  still  sticking  to  it, 
there  were  coffee  grounds  in  the  sink  that  might  stop 
up  the  drain,  the  floor  was  unswept.  Margaret  longed 
to  set  to  work,  but  she  remembered  that  she  was  only 
a  visitor — in  the  house  of  Phillip's  friends. 

She  sighed  a  little,  but  contented  herself  with  saying: 

"  This  is  one  of  John  J.  Haggleton's  tenements, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  Moran's  landlord.  You  should  hear 
him  talk  about  Haggleton,  the  robber." 


40  THE   BATTLE 

"And  this  is 'Lung  Block'?" 

"  It  is." 

"  And  that  little  child  is  coughing  already  ?  No 
wonder.  In  such  an  atmosphere!  Phillip,  can  you 
open  one  of  the  windows  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  But  wait — one  moment.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you.  I  thought  of  something  last  night  after 
I  left  you.  I  didn't  sleep  very  well." 

She  turned  to  him,  the  direct  personal  interest  fully 
awake  again. 

"  I  did  not  sleep  very  well  either,"  she  announced 
demurely.  "  Such  sympathy !  I  was  thinking  seri- 
ously." 

"  About  the  future — our  future  ?    So  was  I." 

"  I  wasn't  so  very  serious — I  was  happy." 

She  seated  herself  in  Jenny's  chair  by  the  table, 
Phillip  taking  the  one  he  had  occupied  when  the  poor 
girl  had  made  her  confession  to  him. 

"  But  it  is  serious,  too,"  he  began.  "  Just  think — we 
meet  in  a  boarding  house  where  I  belong  and  you  do 
not.  Naturally  I  fall  in  love  with  you  because  you 
are  a  splendid,  beautiful  girl — yes,  you  are — and  all  of 
a  sudden,  bang!  you  have  promised  to  marry  me." 

She  glanced  at  him  curiously. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  I  do  not  belong  in  a  board- 
ing house  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  a  lady.  You  never  lived  in  a 
boarding  house  before,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  were  never  brought  up  in  the  expectation  of 
having  to  earn  your  own  living  ?  " 

"  No.    My  father  was  ruined  in  business,  and  I  had 


PHILLIP   AND   MARGARET  4I 

to  choose  between  marriage  and  earning  my  own 
living." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Phillip  with  quiet  conviction. 
"  That  is  what  I  was  thinking  about  last  night.  And 
I  want  to  tell  you,  darling,  that  you  have  made  no  mis- 
take." 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  his  muscular  hands  clasped  together  be- 
fore him. 

"  You  have  made  no  mistake,"  he  repeated.  "  I 
— I  never  loved  a  woman  before,  and  this — your  love 
means  everything  to  me.  I  am  only  a  workingman, 
but  I  am  going  to  rise.  It's  in  me.  I  know  it,  and 
if  you  will  trust  me " 

She  touched  his  clasped  hands,  and  said  with  tran- 
quil faith: 

"  I  do  trust  you,  Phillip,  dear." 

"  I  feel  that  I  can  do  anything,  if  I  have  you  to 
work  for — anything!  I  have  had  a  wonderful  feeling 
of  power  lately,  since — I  have  come  to  love  you " 

He  stumbled  a  little  in  his  words,  self-conscious, 
awkward  in  this  process  of  self-revelation  to  his  first, 
his  only  love.  Then  suddenly,  taking  courage  and  in- 
spiration from  her  face,  he  straightened  up,  threw 
wide  his  arms,  and  promised  exultingly : 

"  Margaret,  I  will  gain  the  big  prizes  for  you — the 
money  prizes  of  this  world,  if  you  want  them." 

"  I  do  not  want  money,  Phillip.  That  is  why  I  took 
up  nursing,  because  my  family  insisted  on  my  marry- 
ing a  stupid  idler  who  happened  to  be  rich." 

"  Listen,  dear,"  she  confessed,  her  face  glowing  with 
her  intensity ;  "  I  love  you  because  you  are  working 


42  THE   BATTLE 

for  something  better  than  money — because  you  have 
high  ideals,  and  because  you  give  time  and  thought  to 
helping  the  poor." 

"  We  will  help  the  poor  in  a  big  way,  you  and  I, 
before  we  get  through,"  he  promised  her  with  a 
radiant  smile.  Then,  with  deep  feeling,  he  continued : 
"  It  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  the  luxury  and  misery 
right  here  in  New  York  City." 

And  she  repeated,  with  the  same  quiet  intensity: 

"  That's  what  makes  me  love  you,  dear." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while,  lost  in  the  vision  of 
what  they,  from  the  vantage  ground  of  their  united 
lives,  could  do  for  the  common  good. 

A  whistle,  sharp,  short,  characteristic,  sounded  in 
the  street.  Phillip  suddenly  stood  alert. 

"  That's    Gentle's    signal,"    he    announced — "  you 
know,  dear,  my  friend  at  the  boarding  house  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  fine  face.    I  like  him." 

"  He  has  been  like  a  father  to  me.  I  owe  every- 
thing to  him.  My  real  father " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  his  face  clouding  over. 
Then,  recovering  himself,  as  he  heard  his  friend's 
step  in  the  hall,  he  opened  the  door  and  ushered 
him  in. 

Gentle  entered,  took  off  his  cap,  and  bowed  to  Mar- 
garet. He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  stockily  built,  and 
tanned  by  exposure  to  all  kinds  of  weather.  His  blue 
pea-jacket,  dark  trousers,  and  heavy  boots  suggested 
the  seafaring  man. 

In  reality  he  was  a  diver,  like  Phillip,  and  it  was 
under  his  guidance  that  Phillip  had  learned  the  trade 
of  which  he  was  now  an  acknowledged  master.  What 


PHILLIP   AND   MARGARET  43 

Margaret  had  just  said  of  Gentle  was  true.  He  had 
a  fine,  manly  face,  thoughtful  and  kindly,  yet  strong 
withal — the  face  of  a  man  whom  women  and  children 
would  love,  and  men  would  trust. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you,  Phillip,"  he  said.  "  Good 
morning,  Miss  Lawrence." 

The  girl  gave  him  her  hand  and  returned  his  salu- 
tation. 

"  I  have  just  seen  the  captain,"  continued  the  old 
diver,  turning  again  to  Phillip.  "  He  says  you  can 
have  the  day  off." 

"But  the  barge  in  the  East  River?"  objected  the 
young  man. 

"  She  lies  in  thirty  feet  of  water.  Atkinson  and  I 
can  get  the  chains  under  her  when  the  tide  turns." 
Then  he  added,  glancing  at  Margaret  with  an  apolo- 
getic smile :  "  I  told  the  captain  this  was  a  special  day 
for  you." 

"  Does  Mr.  Gentle  know  ?  "  she  whispered  to  Phillip. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  Miss  Lawrence ;  Phillip  has  no 
secrets  from  me — and  such  a  secret !  " 

He  stretched  out  his  corded,  wrinkled  hands  to 
them,  and  exclaimed  with  a  lonely  man's  fondness: 

"  My  children !  You  know,"  he  added  in  explana- 
tion to  the  girl,  "  he  is  like  a  son  to  me." 

"  Then  I  will  be  like  a  daughter,"  she  rejoined 
sweetly. 

"  My  daughter  Margaret ! "  Gentle  exclaimed. 
Then  he  added  with  tender  reverence :  "  It  was  the 
name  of  Phillip's  mother.  She  would  be  very  happy  at 
the  choice  her  son  has  made." 

"  Gentle,"  Phillip  broke  in,  "  I  wish  you  would  tell 


44  THE   BATTLE 

Margaret  about  the  night  when  you  first  saw  my 
mother." 

"  You  think  Margaret  ought  to  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  wish  her  to  know." 

They  sat  down,  the  girl  between  them,  her  hand  in 
her  lover's. 

"  It  was  twenty-two  years  ago,"  began  Gentle  halt- 
ingly; "a  wild  night,  and  bitter  cold.  Mrs.  Binney 
(I  have  boarded  with  her  for  more  than  twenty-five 
years) — Mrs.  Binney  and  I  were  playing  checkers  in 
the  basement  sitting  room,  when  all  of  a  sudden  we 
heard  the  bell.  '  Sakes  alive,  who's  that?'  said  Mrs. 
Binney.  '  I'll  go  and  see,'  said  I.  And  when  I  opened 
the  door,  there  stood  a  woman  in  the  storm  holding  a 
little  boy  by  his  hand,  and  she  was  white  as  death. 
'  God  have  mercy,'  said  I,  '  what  are  you  doing  out  in 
a  night  like  this  ? '  '  We  are  in  great  trouble,'  said 
she.  '  Come  in,'  said  I,  '  in  the  name  of  God ! '  and  in 
they  came,  and  I  saw  that  the  little  boy  was  so  cold 
that  the  tears  were  frozen  on  his  face.  That  little 
boy  was  Phillip." 

With  an  exclamation  of  pity  and  love  Margaret 
looked  at  Phillip.  She  almost  felt  as  if  he  must  still 
be  cold  and  suffering,  and  pressed  his  hand  reassur- 
ingly. 

"  He  was  then  barely  four  years  old,"  concluded 
Gentle. 

"  And  to  this  day  I  have  never  heard  what  sent  my 
mother  out  into  the  storm,"  Phillip  added. 

"  She  never  told  you  ?  "  Margaret  looked  thought- 
ful. 

"  She  died   with   her   secret   unspoken,   unless " — 


PHILLIP   AND   MARGARET 


45 


the  young  man  turned  to  his  friend  and  looked  at 
him  inquiringly — "  unless,  Gentle,  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  my  mother  told  you  her  secret." 

The  old  man  hesitated.    Then  he  admitted: 

"  She  told  me  a  little,  Phillip." 

"  And  you  have  kept  it  from  me  ?  " 

"  There  were  things  which  she  did  not  wish  you 
to  know." 

Phillip  looked  grave.  He  glanced  at  Gentle,  then 
at  Margaret,  and  asked  peremptorily: 

"  Is  this  thing  you  are  keeping  back  something  that 
this  girl  who  is  going  to  be  my  wife  ought  to  know  ?  " 

"  It  is  not." 

Phillip  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  Turning  to  Margaret, 
he  explained: 

"  It  is  something  about  my  father — some  trouble  be- 
tween him  and  my  mother,  isn't  it,  Gentle  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  about  your  father,  my  boy ! " 

Before  Phillip  could  reply,  Emmy  entered  the  room 
from  Jenny's  sleeping  closet,  grasped  a  chair  and  be- 
gan to  drag  it  behind  her. 

"  You  little  tot !  "  exclaimed  Margaret,  "  what  do 
you  want  that  chair  for  ?  " 

"  We're  play  in'  yacht,  lady." 

"  Oh,  you  are  playing  yacht  ?  " 

"  I'm  the  captain.    We're  chasin'  enemies." 

"  And  your  little  brother?  " 

"  He  is  John  J." 

"John  J.?" 

"Don't  you  know  John  J.,  lady?  He's  a  damned 
millionaire." 

"  Why,  Emmy !  "  exclaimed  Phillip. 


46  THE   BATTLE 

"  That's  what  Moran  says,"  maintained  Emmy 
stoutly.  Turning  to  Margaret,  she  continued: 

"  Don't  you  know  John  J.  Haggleton  ?  He  owns 
everything.  He  is  the  landlord  of  this  shack.  You 
ought  to  hear  Benny  play  John  J.  '  Bring  up  the 
damned  Indians  and  cut  off  der  heads,'  he  says." 

"  That's  the  Haggleton  idea,  all  right,"  commented 
Phillip  with  a  smile.  Gentle  looked  at  him  with  a  curi- 
ous expression. 

Just  then  the  make-believe  "  John  J."  began  to 
cough. 

"  Oh,  my  patient,  I  forgot  him !  "  exclaimed  Mar- 
garet remorsefully,  springing  to  her  feet. 

She  grasped  Emmy's  dirty  little  hand  and  darted 
through  the  door. 

"  Going  to  the  boats  now,  Gentle  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 

"  Not  yet.    I  am  expecting  some  one." 

The  old  man  spoke  with  preoccupation,  looking  out 
of  the  window  the  while.  Phillip  inevitably  gravitated 
toward  the  door  through  which  Margaret  had  disap- 
peared. As  he  closed  it  behind  him,  Gentle  heard  him 
say :  "  Let  me  help  you  put  things  to  rights  here." 

In  a  few  moments  Gentle  heard  the  honk-honk  of  an 
automobile  horn  and  saw  a  powerful  motor  car  turn 
the  corner  of  Market  Street — a  rare  apparition  there, 
attracting  no  end  of  attention  and  far  from  friendly 
comment.  The  car  stopped  in  front  of  the  tenement. 
Gentle  went  to  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  opened 
it,  and  waited.  There  was  a  heavy,  slow  step  on  the 
stairs,  a  woman's  shrill  voice  called  out  a  direction, 
then  Gentle  said  distinctly: 

"This  way,  Mr.  Haggleton." 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOHN   J.    HAGGLETON — MILLIONAIRE 

GENTLE  looked  curiously  at  the  man  who  en- 
tered the  room,  and  who  first  glanced  sharply 
around  it  and  then  fixed  a  pair  of  cold,  commanding, 
penetrating  eyes  upon  him. 

So  this  was  Haggleton — the  "  John  J."  of  daily  par- 
lance, the  master  of  oil  fields  and  coal  fields,  of  iron 
mines  and  railroads  and  steamship  lines,  of  banks  and 
trust  companies,  the  man  whose  power  was  felt  in 
Europe  and  in  Asia  as  in  America — the  chosen  subject 
of  the  bitterest  attacks  of  social  reformers  and  revo- 
lutionaries, the  man  who  could  afford  to  fight  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  most  powerful  country  in  the  world  on 
terms  of  equality. 

"JohnJ.l" 

Gentle  had  never  seen  him,  few  ever  saw  him,  and 
yet  his  face  was  more  familiar  to  all  his  countrymen 
than  that  of  the  President  himself.  The  newspaper 
cartoonists  had  seen  to  that.  They  had  represented 
him  as  a  fox,  as  a  weasel,  as  a  bird  of  prey,  as  a  bull 
tossing  the  strongest  opposition  on  its  horns,  as  a 
robber  baron,  a  pickpocket,  a  slave  driver,  a  menacing 
cloud  upon  the  face  of  the  sun  of  democracy,  as  a 
minotaur  devouring  women  and  children,  as  a  living 
money  bag. 

"John  J.!" 

47 


48  THE   BATTLE 

The  man  who  had  built  up  a  world-wide  industry 
with  nothing  at  the  start  but  his  brains  and  his  health  ! 
The  man  who  had  removed  from  his  path  all  obstruc- 
tions, who  had  been  loyal  to  his  associates,  ruthless  to 
his  enemies.  The  silent  man,  who  never  deigned  to 
answer  attacks,  whose  legal  weapon  was  delay,  the 
incarnation  of  plutocracy  for  socialism  and  anarchism 
to  denounce  and  attack. 

Gentle  saw  before  him  a  burly  man  of  sixty,  gray- 
haired,  with  a  bristling  gray  mustache  waxed  at  the 
ends,  a  man  dressed  with  unobtrusive  taste. 

But  it  was  the  face  that  commanded  his  attention. 
The  steely  eyes  had  held  him  from  the  first.  He  now 
noted  the  stern  brow,  with  the  fold  between  the  eye- 
brows, the  iron  jaw,  the  lines  at  the  corners  of  the 
grim  mouth,  the  straight,  short  nose,  which  suggested 
Kitchener. 

It  was  a  face  cut  out  of  granite,  which  imposed  im- 
plicit obedience.  It  suggested  mastery,  tranquil  assur- 
ance, but  it  was  not  aggressive;  this  man  had  been 
accustomed  too  long  to  absolute  and  immediate  obedi- 
ence. 

All  the  sins  of  modern  industry  and  commerce  were 
charged  to  him.  He  went  on  his  way,  ever  organiz- 
ing, ever  enlarging  his  empire  of  power  and  industry, 
and  commerce  grew  and  flourished  with  them.  A 
force  for  evil,  they  said,  and  yet  a  giver  of  bread, 
honestly  earned,  to  tens  of  thousands  of  men. 

But  the  old  diver,  accustomed  to  picking  strong, 
healthy  men  for  the  dangerous  work  of  which  he  had 
charge,  saw  something  else,  which  the  cartoonists 
failed  to  suggest  in  their  drawings.  He  saw,  as  plainly 


J.   J.    HAGGLETON— MILLIONAIRE       49 

as  John  J.'s  famous  physician  had  seen,  that  the  mil- 
lionaire was  not  a  well  man.  The  pallor  of  his  face, 
the  color  of  his  eyeballs,  the  wrinkled  circles  beneath 
them,  the  momentary  scantness  of  breath,  all  this  told 
its  tale  to  Gentle.  And  he  saw  also  that  John  J.  Hag- 
gleton,  with  all  his  wealth  and  power,  was  not  a  happy 
man,  not  even  a  contented  one. 

Gentle  noticed  all  this  in  the  few  seconds  which  Hag- 
gleton  devoted  to  that  first  sharp  glance  around  the 
Morans'  abode.  Nothing  escaped  the  millionaire's  at- 
tention. The  evidence  of  poverty  he  hardly  heeded ; 
he  had  been  prepared  for  that,  but  the  discouraging 
disorder,  the  lack  of  system  and  of  cleanliness,  was 
registered  on  his  master  mind. 

His  eyes  flashed  a  little  as  he  growled : 

"  Of  all  filthy  places !  " 

"  It's  one  of  your  tenements,  Mr.  Haggleton,"  said 
Gentle  pointedly.  "  I  wanted  you  to  see  it." 

"  You  did  ?  That's  not  the  point."  Then  briskly : 
"  You  said  you  had  papers  to  show  me." 

"  So  I  have,  so  I  have." 

Gentle  pointed  to  the  chair  in  which  Margaret  had 
been  sitting,  drew  Phillip's  to  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  and  sat  down  with  great  composure. 

"  I  have  very  little  time,"  continued  the  master  of 
millions  aggressively.  "  My  auto  is  waiting,  and  my 
yacht,  too,  with  guests  aboard.  I  told  you  that  I  sail 
within  an  hour." 

"  On  a  long  cruise.  I  read  it  in  the  papers.  That's 
why  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday." 

Haggleton's  eyes  were  everywhere.  They  kept 
Gentle  under  constant  surveillance,  yet  at  the  same 


50  THE   BATTLE 

time  watched  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  room,  the 
dark  space  beneath  the  beds,  the  door  of  Jenny's  sleep- 
ing closet.  His  secretary  was  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
without,  his  mechanician  in  the  hallway  below.  Al- 
though he  had  given  no  orders,  he  knew  that  they  were 
there.  Utterly  fearless,  he  nevertheless  did  not  intend 
to  be  caught  in  a  trap.  Gentle's  face,  however,  sug- 
gested no  danger  of  this  kind. 

"  I  sail  in  an  hour,"  repeated  Haggleton.  "  We 
could  have  settled  this  business  at  my  office  or  at  my 
house." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Haggleton.  The  place  to 
settle  this  business  I  have  with  you  is — here." 

"  I  came  because  what  you  wrote  me  is  important 
— if  true.  Where  are  your  proofs  ?  " 

Gentle  drew  a  bundle  of  papers  from  the  inner  pock- 
et of  his  pea-jacket,  ran  over  them,  selected  several 
letters  and  handed  them  to  the  millionaire.  Then  he 
leaned  back  and  waited,  watching  him  narrowly  in  his 
turn. 

Haggleton  took  the  first  letter,  opened  it,  and 
glanced  at  it.  He  shot  a  curious  glance  at  the  respect- 
able-looking workingman  seated  opposite  him,  and 
opened  a  second  one. 

This  he  read  carefully,  the  pallor  of  his  face  increas- 
ing as  he  read.  But  his  hand  did  not  tremble,  and  he 
showed  no  outward  sign  of  perturbation.  Only,  after 
he  had  perused  this  paper,  and  before  he  went  into  the 
third,  he  fixed  Gentle  with  a  prolonged  stare.  Black- 
mail ?  Oh,  well,  he  would  see  about  that ! 

He  carefully  went  over  the  remaining  letters  one  by 
one,  examined  the  handwriting,  and  at  last  exclaimed : 


J.   J.    HAGGLETON— MILLIONAIRE       5I 

"  My  wife!  It's  her  handwriting!  Then  you  knew 
her?" 

"  I  knew  her  for  years." 

Haggleton  bent  forward,  the  bundle  of  papers 
crushed  between  his  clenched  hands.  A  rapid,  nerv- 
ous twitch  of  the  left  side  of  the  face  was  the  only 
outward  expression  of  his  feeling,  but  to  those  who 
knew  him  it  would  have  signified  much.  Gentle  sat 
perfectly  silent,  waiting  for  him  to  speak  again. 

"  Margaret !  "  murmured  Haggleton  musingly,  ten- 
derly. "  Margaret !  After  twenty-two  years !  " 

He  mastered  himself  with  an  effort,  and  sat  up 
straight  in  his  chair,  the  commander  of  men  again. 
There  was  a  battle  before  him,  a  battle  over  a  secret, 
and  for  a  secret — the  solution  of  the  mystery  of  his 
private  life.  It  behooved  him  to  move  cautiously  at 
first.  Ultimately  he  would  hold  all  the  tricks,  of 
course.  He  always  did!  This  man  might  know  a 
great  deal;  and,  again,  he  might  have  merely  stum- 
bled upon  the  outer  circle  of  the  mystery.  Moreover, 
there  was  a  third  life  involved,  far  more  precious 
to  Haggleton,  after  all  these  years,  than  his  vanished 
wife's. 

His  first  question  was  asked  quietly,  almost  indiffer- 
ently : 

"  How  was  my  wife  living  when  you  knew  her  ?  " 

"  In  the  boarding  house  where  I  was.  She  had  a 
little  money,  but  it  did  not  last  long.  Then  she  tried 
to  work,  but — it  was  not  easy,  and — I — was  earning 
good  wages,  and — I  helped  her." 

Haggleton's  mind  seized  upon  this  point,  and  regis- 
tered it  in  its  usual  orderly  manner.  The  attempt  to 


52  THE   BATTLE 

establish  a  pecuniary  claim  had  come  earlier  in  the 
interview  than  he  had  expected.  Clumsy  fellow,  this 
Gentle!  But  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  changed,  and 
his  voice  was  smooth  and  quiet  as  he  asked : 

"  You  say  you  helped  her  ?  " 

Gentle  nodded,  and  answered  in  a  low  voice :  "  Yes." 

"  You  helped  her.    Did  she  ask  you  for  assistance  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  why  did  you  help  her?  " 

"  Because  I  loved  her."  And  lower  still  he  added : 
"  I  wanted  her  to  marry  me." 

Haggleton  was  staggered  for  once. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  That's  how  she  came  to  tell  me  her  story,"  con- 
tinued Gentle. 

"  She  told  you  her  story  ?  What  did  she  tell  you  ? 
What  did  she  say  about  me  ?  " 

The  three  questions  succeeded  each  other  rapidly, 
sharply. 

"  She  said,"  returned  Gentle  distinctly,  "  that  you 
were  cruel." 

"To  her?" 

"  That  in  your  dealings  you  were  consumed  with 
greed  for  money.  That  is  why  she  left  you." 

"  Greed  for  money !  " 

Haggleton  ruminated  upon  this  for  a  little  while, 
then  added  mechanically: 

"  And  that  is  why  she  left  me." 

He  thrust  the  thought  away  from  him  with  a  slight 
movement  of  the  head,  scrutinized  his  opponent's  face 
again,  and  went  on  to  the  more  important  question  still 
to  be  solved. 


J.   J.    HAGGLETON— MILLIONAIRE       53 

"  Was  she — was  she  living  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

Gentle  met  his  look  squarely,  and  answered  briefly: 

"  No." 

"She  was  not?" 

"  She  had  with  her  a  child — your  son." 

The  millionaire  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  This  man 
was  no  impostor,  he  felt  sure  of  that.  His  desire  to 
know  the  truth,  which  he  had  sought  for  twenty  years, 
and  his  accurate  judgment  of  the  man  before  him, 
counseled  him  that  it  was  safe  to  proceed  with  less 
caution  now.  Therefore  he  asked  point-blank : 

"  Why  did  she  take  my  son  with  her  ?  Why  did 
she  steal  him  and  hide  him  from  me  ?  " 

"  To  save  him  from  your  influence.  He  was  her 
son,  too.  She  wished  him  to  be  an  honest  man." 

"  Who  says  that  I  am  not  an  honest  man  ?  " 

"  Your  wife  said  so." 

Haggleton  waved  this  aside  impatiently,  as  of  no 
moment. 

"  I  want  to  know  about  my  son,"  he  commanded  im- 
periously. Then,  his  voice  breaking  with  emotion :  "  Is 
he — is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  Living  and  well !  " 

"  My  son !  My  son  that  was  lost  and  is  found  again. 
I  am  to  see  him,"  he  added  in  an  eager  whisper.  "  I 
am  to  see  him  now !  " 

He  mastered  this  softened  mood  and  became  his 
usual  strong  self  again.  The  moment  of  assertion,  of 
command,  had  come.  He  turned  his  steely  eyes  upon 
Gentle,  and  said  with  hidden  menace: 

"Where  is  he?  Why  don't  you  send  for  him? 
Now,  at  once." 


54 


THE    BATTLE 


"  You  will  see  him  presently." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other.  Haggleton's  first 
suspicion  suggested  itself  again. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  "  you  want  to  make  terms.  You 
want  money  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  want  money." 

"  Come,  come,  I  understand.  That's  perfectly  nat- 
ural. You  have  done  me  a  service,  a  great  service. 
You  have  given  me  my  son " 

«  Not  yet " 

"  I  say  you  have  done  me  a  service,  and  it's  only 
right  that  I  should  pay  for  it,  and  pay  handsomely." 

"  If  I  wanted  money,  Mr.  Haggleton,  I  should  have 
asked  for  it  long  ago.  I  have  known  this  for  twelve 
years — I  sent  you  word  of  her  death " 

"  Ah !  It  was  you !  You  covered  your  tracks  well. 
It  is  you  who  have  kept  my  son  from  me  for  twelve 
years ! " 

"  It  was  his  mother's  wish — her  command !  " 

"  Her  command  ?  Then  why  have  you  told  me 
now?  Why  have  you  brought  me  here?  If  you  don't 
want  money,  what  the  devil  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Let  me  finish  my  story,  and  you  will  understand. 
Your  wife  lived  among  the  poor.  She  saw  want  and 
suffering  face  to  face,  and  it  was  her  dream  that  some 
day  your  son  should  make  atonement  for  his  father's 
wrongdoing." 

"Atonement?" 

Both  men  had  risen  now,  facing  each  other  with 
growing  excitement. 

"  Yes,  atonement  with  your  money  and  through 
your  money,  by  the  right  use  of  it.  Some  day,  when 


J.   J.    HAGGLETON— MILLIONAIRE       55 

he  was  strong  enough,  Phillip  was  to  meet  you,  to 
know  you  as  his  father.  That  day  has  come.  That's 
why  I  have  sent  for  you." 

Haggleton  took  a  rapid  turn  of  the  room,  his  hands 
clasped  nervously  behind  him.  Returning  to  Gentle, 
he  said  jeeringly: 

"  Ah,  I  see.  He  is  to  show  me  my  evil  ways,  and 
I  am  to  be  converted  and  fall  on  his  neck.  Rubbish ! 
You  have  made  a  prig  of  him !  " 

"  I  have  made  a  man  of  him — such  a  man  as  his 
mother  wanted  him  to  be." 

The  millionaire  returned  to  his  purpose. 

"  He  doesn't  live  in  this  hole,"  he  decided  with  un- 
erring intuition. 

"  Of  course  not.  He  lives  in  a  decent  boarding 
house." 

"  He  knows  nothing  about " 

"  Nothing." 

"  What  does  he  do?    What  can  he  earn?" 

"  He  is  a  skilled  workman,  with  the  Atlantic 
Wrecking  Company.  He  is  a  diver." 

"  A  diver  ?  "  There  was  a  tone  of  contempt  in  his 
voice. 

"  Yes,  a  master  diver.  He  earns  from  eight  to  fif- 
teen dollars  a  day,  he  stands  six  feet  in  his  stockings, 
he  measures  forty-eight  inches  around  the  chest,  and 
he  has  an  arm  like  an  iron  bar." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  Haggleton  was  smiling  now,  his 
eyes  shining  with  pride.  Gentle  continued : 

"  And  he  has  a  will  of  his  own.    And  ideas !  " 

"  Ideas  ?  What  sort  of  ideas  ?  "  There  was  a  sud- 
den suspicion  in  the  question. 


56  THE   BATTLE 

"  The  ideas  his  mother  gave  him — ideas  of  justice 
and  kindness.  She  was  a  noble  woman." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  conceded  Haggleton  impatiently.  "  She 
was  a  noble  woman,  but  she  understood  nothing  of 
business.  She  was  all  wrong  about  business." 

"  She  did  not  believe  that  one  man  should  make 
slaves  of  thousands  and  take  their  earnings,"  an- 
swered Gentle,  his  voice  almost  stern.  "  Neither  does 
Phillip." 

"  Phillip !    She  kept  his  name." 

"  She  kept  his  Christian  name  with  the  name  she 
assumed.  She  called  him  Phillip  Ames." 

"  You've  pumped  socialism  into  him,"  fumed  the 
millionaire — "  that's  the  sort  of  thing  you've  taught 
him,  eh?"  He  added  scornfully:  "I'll  soon  change 
that." 

And  as  Gentle  smiled,  he  broke  out  excitedly : 

"You  don't  think  I  can?" 

"  What  I  have  taught  him  is  little,"  said  the  diver 
quietly,  and  added  with  confidence,  "  but  what  life 
and  misery  have  taught  him  he  can  never  forget.  1 
tell  you  he  is  a  man !  " 

"  He  is  my  son — the  son  of  John  J.  Haggleton — 
my  only  son — with  great  things  to  do  in  this  world !  " 

"  Exactly !    The  destiny  his  mother  chose  for  him !  " 

"  I  mean  he  will  have  great  interests  to  protect,  a 
great  fortune  to  handle,"  protested  Haggleton,  adding 
contemptuously :  "  What  will  he  care  for  your  petty 
theories  when  he  knows  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  When  he  knows  who  he  is,"  said  Gentle  thought- 
fully. "  Then  what  ?  How  often  I  have  asked  that  of 
myself!  Petty  theories!  He  has  learned  the  noblest 


J.   J.   HAGGLETON— MILLIONAIRE      57 

theory  ever  formulated,  Mr.  Haggleton,  and  he'll  stick 
to  it,  I  think." 

"  What  theory  is  that?  " 

The  old  diver  paused,  and  then  answered  with  slow 
seriousness : 

"  The  theory  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  strong  to  help 
the  weak,  not  to  trample  on  them." 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  Jenny's  room  opened, 
and  Phillip  entered  briskly.  He  gave  a  careless 
glance  at  Haggleton,  murmured,  "  Excuse  me  a  mo- 
ment," and  began  to  search  for  something,  rummag- 
ing in  boxes,  opening  drawers,  and  grumbling  to  him- 
self, his  back  to  the  two  men. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  half  aloud,  "  that  the  scoundrel 
who  owns  this  place  had  to  live  in  it.  ...  I'd  like  to 
make  him  sleep  in  that  room.  .  .  .  Where  the  devil 
is  that  hammer  ?  " 

"  In  that  pail  under  the  sink,"  said  Haggleton 
sharply. 

The  sudden  remark  had  the  result  he  desired. 
In  astonishment  Phillip  turned  his  face  full  upon  the 
newcomer,  thus  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  take 
a  good  look  at  him.  Gentle  motioned  the  millionaire 
to  be  silent. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Phillip,  with  another  curious  glance. 
Taking  the  hammer,  he  hastily  disappeared  into  the 
other  room. 

The  moment  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Hag- 
gleton said  excitedly: 

"  You  need  not  tell  me !  I  want  no  proof.  I  know 
— the  eyes,  the  chin,  especially  the  eyes!  For  twenty 
years  I  haven't  slept  without  seeing  those  eyes ! " 


58  THE    BATTLE 

He  started  impetuously  for  the  door,  but  Gentle  in- 
tercepted him. 

"  Stop !  "  he  commanded.  "  Not  yet.  If  you  speak 
to  him  now,  you  will  regret  it." 

"  What  is  this  to  you  ?  He  is  my  son,  he  is  mine ! 
I  have  found  him!  He  shall  sail  with  me  on  my 
yacht  within  an  hour !  " 

"  No,  no !  " 

Gentle  stood  before  the  door  with  outstretched  arms. 

"  Wait,"  he  continued ;  "  you  don't  know  all  yet. 
Here,  read  this." 

He  produced  an  envelope  from  his  pocket,  and  hand- 
ed it  to  Haggleton,  who  snatched  it  from  him  and 
opened  it  impatiently.  It  contained  two  papers.  Hag- 
gleton glanced  at  the  first  one,  then  suddenly  sat  down. 

"  My  God !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Now  you  understand  how  things  are  between  us," 
said  Gentle. 

"  My  wife  made  this  document  on  her  deathbed  ?  " 

"  With  a  clear  mind.    The  doctor  attested  it." 

"  It  is  a  copy  of  the  order  I  gave  that  night."  Hag- 
gleton's  tone  was  strangely  subdued  as  he  looked  at  the 
second  paper. 

"  The  original  is  in  a  safe  place,"  said  Gentle. 
"  Don't  offer  me  money  for  it,"  he  added  warningly ; 
"  it  is  not  for  sale." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  want  Phillip  to  read  it  ?  " 

"  No !    A  thousand  times  no !  " 

"  Then  I  will  use  it  to  increase  your  patience.  You 
must  be  content,  Mr.  Haggleton,  to  see  your  son,  and 
be  with  him,  on  my  terms ! " 


CHAPTER   V 

FATHER   AND   SON 

THE  two  men  stood  facing  each  other — the  work- 
ingman  quiet,  self-possessed,  dignified,  with  not 
a  trace  of  personal  victory  or  consciousness  of  his  ad- 
vantage in  his  face  or  his  manner,  intent  only  upon 
carrying  out  the  mission  entrusted  to  him  by  a  dying 
woman ;  the  millionaire — the  most  powerful  man  on  a 
continent — without  a  sense  of  defeat,  fully  confident  of 
his  ultimate  triumph,  but  curious  to  know  the  condi- 
tions under  which  he  would  be  allowed  to  claim  his 
own  son. 

He  knew  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  keep  the  terms 
of  the  agreement  if  his  son  were  to  be  kept  in  ig- 
norance of  that  dark  page  in  his  past  life,  but  what  of 
that?  He  had  the  greatest  task  of  his  career  before 
him,  the  task  of  winning  his  lost  son.  It  was  a  new 
interest,  far  more  potent  than  any  he  had  known  for 
many  years,  and  he  was  anxious  to  begin. 

"  You  say  that  I  must  be  content  to  see  my  son  and 
be  with  him  only  on  your  terms  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  must  not  make  yourself  known  to  him  until 
the  right  moment  comes." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gentle. 

"  But  how  can  I  see  him,  or  be  with  him,  if  he 
doesn't  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  That  is  easy  enough.  Show  an  interest  in  the 
59 


60  THE   BATTLE 

problems  of  poverty,  tenement-house  reform,  and 
Phillip  will  spend  his  days  and  nights  with  you." 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Haggleton ;  "  I  want  him  to 
take  an  interest  in  my  affairs,  which  will  be  his.  He 
cannot  begin  too  soon.  And  I  am  going  away  on  my 
yacht.  Time  is  pressing." 

"  Phillip  will  be  here  when  you  return  from  your 
cruise."  There  was  a  trace  of  irony  in  Gentle's  reply. 

"  In  three  months  ?  Ah,  you  have  never  had  a  son ! 
And  lost  him !  And  then  found  him !  He  is  going 
with  me  on  that  cruise." 

Gentle  shook  his  head  with  determination.  "  It  can- 
not be,"  he  answered ;  "  I  must  put  my  promise  to  his 
mother  before  your  feelings.  I  have  loved  him  for 
years.  I  have  trained  him  for  a  battle  with  you — a 
great  battle  that's  coming  now.  And  I  will  see  that 
you  start  fair." 

"Battle— what  battle?" 

"  A  battle,"  continued  Gentle  impressively,  "  be- 
tween your  money  and  his  high  purpose.  You  will 
try  to  tempt  him — I  know  it.  You  will  try  to  make 
him  hard  and  worldly.  That's  why  I  have  waited  until 
he  was  a  man,  his  character  formed.  Even  now  he's 
only  twenty-six,  and — he  is  your  son." 

"  Just  so.     He  is  my  son." 

Haggleton's  voice  was  more  than  confident ;  it  ex- 
ulted. 

"  Yes,  he  is  your  son,"  Gentle  went  on,  his  indigna- 
tion rising  at  this  note  of  anticipated  victory,  "  but  he 
is  also  his  mother's  son.  In  a  way  he  is  my  son,  too. 
Yes,  he  is  ready  for  the  test.  I  am  sure  of  him." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose  ?    My  wife's  directions 


FATHER   AND   SON  61 

— that  document — put  me  in  your  power,  but  remem- 
ber that  I  am  a  man  of  large  affairs,  and  that  my  in- 
terests are  Phillip's  own.  Let  us  reach  an  understand- 
ing." 

"  You  are  to  be  interested  in  the  improvement  of  the 
condition  of  the  poor.  You  are  not  to  reveal  your  re- 
lationship to  Phillip ;  you  are  to  assume  another  name. 
You  will " 

At  this  moment  Phillip  entered. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  make  that  room  fit  for  the 
Httle  kid  to  sleep  in,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  pigsty.  Oh, 
that  scoundrel  Haggleton!  Miss  Lawrence  says  the 
children  should  both  be  sent  to  the  hospital." 

Gentle  stepped  forward. 

"  I  want  you  to  know  a  friend  of  mine,  Phillip,"  he 
said,  "  Mr. — Mr.  Jackson.  Mr.  Jackson  is  interested 
in  tenement-house  problems." 

The  young  man  held  out  his  brawny  hand  to  "  Mr. 
Jackson,"  who  shook  it  heartily. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  sir.  If  you  are  looking  for 
tenement-house  problems,  just  look  around  you.  You 
have  struck  the  right  place.  This  is  Lung  Block.  The 
man  who  owns  it  is  just  starting  on  a  cruise  in  his 
million-dollar  yacht." 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Haggleton  ?  "  asked  that  worthy. 

"  Yes — John  J.  The  doctors  say  he  needs  a 
change."  Phillip  laughed  somewhat  bitterly.  "  I 
wonder  what  his  tenants  need  ?  " 

Haggleton  looked  around  the  room  once  more,  tak- 
ing in  every  evidence  of  neglect  and  dirt.  Then  his 
glance  fell  upon  the  mantelpiece,  with  its  queer  col- 
lection of  timepieces. 


62  THE   BATTLE 

"  You  wonder  what  John  J.'s  tenants  need  ? "  he 
said  dryly.  "  I  should  say  that  those  who  live  here 
need  more  soap  and  not  so  many  marble  clocks." 

"  Phillip,"  said  Margaret,  half  opening  the  door  and 
looking  through  it,  "  where  is  the  croup  kettle  ?  " 

He  took  it  from  its  place  between  the  "  installment 
clock  "  and  the  alarm  clock  and  handed  it  to  her,  clos- 
ing the  door. 

Haggleton,  who  had  taken  quick  notice  of  her  neat 
appearance  and  cultured  speech,  asked  with  interest: 

"Whom  have  you  got  in  there?  That  lady  doesn't 
live  here?" 

"  No.  She's  a  trained  nurse  and — she's  the  girl 
whom  I  am  going  to  marry." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  Haggleton  made  no  further  com- 
ment. 

As  Gentle  smiled  to  himself,  he  caught  a  twinkle 
in  Haggleton's  eye.  He  suddenly  began  to  like  the 
man  a  little  better.  It  made  him  appear  far  more 
human  than  had  his  emotion  of  a  moment  ago,  when 
he  had  found  his  son,  for  then  his  tenderness  had 
been  mixed  with  a  masterful  determination  to  mold 
the  boy  after  his  own  image. 

Phillip,  meanwhile,  had  been  turning  something  over 
in  his  mind. 

"  Are  you  a  friend  of  Mr.  Haggleton,  Mr.  Jack- 
son ?  "  he  asked.  "  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

«  Why— er— yes." 

"You  know  him?"  repeated  Phillip,  half  incredu- 
lous— "  personally,  I  mean  ?  " 

Gentle  interfered. 

"  Mr.  Jackson  is  associated  with  Mr.  Haggleton  in 


FATHER   AND   SON  63 

business,"  he  explained ;  "  he  has  been  helping  him  in 
some  schemes  for  tenement  improvement." 

"  I'd  like  to  tell  Mr.  Haggleton  a  few  things  about 
tenement  improvement !  "  the  young  man  burst  out. 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  "  asked  the  pseudo  Mr.  Jack- 
son. 

Phillip  was  fire  and  flame  at  once.  He  mounted  his 
hobby  and  was  off  at  a  gallop. 

"  I'd  tell  him,"  he  vociferated,  "  that  he  owns  blocks 
and  blocks  on  the  lower  East  Side  that  are  in  such  a 
lovely  state  that  he  might  as  well  be  running  a  factory 
for  turning  out " 

Gentle  made  a  restraining  movement,  checking 
Phillip,  who  ended  impatiently: 

"Oh,  what's  the  use?" 

"  No,  go  on,"  urged  Haggleton.  "  I  am  here  to 
learn.  You  said  '  factory  for  turning  out ' — what  ?  " 

"  Thieves  and  drunkards  and  wrecks  of  women," 
thundered  Phillip.  He  clenched  his  fists,  shook 
them  above  his  head,  then  growing  more  calm, 
concluded : 

"  My  God !  why  cannot  you  rich  men  be  decent  ?  " 

Haggleton,  remembering  his  role  of  Mr.  Jackson, 
remained  calm.  He  saw  a  first  opening  in  his  cam- 
paign against  Gentle's  teachings,  and  took  advantage 
of  it. 

"  Mr.  Haggleton  has  rooms  to  rent  and  these  people 
want  to  rent  them,"  he  commented  with  irritating 
coldness.  "  Business  is  business." 

"  What  a  rotten  idea !  "  Phillip's  lips  curled  scorn- 
fully. "  Lie,  steal,  plunder  people,  break  their  hearts, 
and  if  you  say  '  business  is  business/  it  is  all  right." 


64  THE   BATTLE 

"  Well  said,  Phillip,"  approved  Gentle,  rubbing  his 
hands. 

"  You  have  been  reading  the  muck-rakers,"  sneered 
Haggleton. 

"Why  not?" 

"  All  rich  men  are  robbers  ?  "  queried  Haggleton. 

"  I  don't  say  that,  Mr.  Jackson." 

"  If  I  had  a  daughter  she  would  be  a  princess  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  And  my  son  would  be  a  fool  ?  " 

"  No  doubt." 

"  And  reformers  care  nothing  about  money  ?  "  asked 
Haggleton  sarcastically.  "  The  editor  of  the  socialist 
paper  takes  no  interest  in  his  salary,  eh  ?  " 

"  Even  reformers  have  to  live." 

"  Listen  to  me,  young  man."  Haggleton  was  in  grim 
earnest  now.  "  Let  me  tell  you  something.  There 
isn't  a  reformer  in  this  country  who  wouldn't  stop  re- 
forming damned  quick  if  he  found  it  was  hurting  his 
pocketbook." 

Phillip  flared  up  again. 

"  That's  false !  "  he  shouted.  "  Besides,  it  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  question.  The  question  is  where  do 
you  get  your  money,  you  rich  men?  Do  you  earn  it? 
Do  you  dig  it  out  of  the  ground  ?  No.  You  get  it  by 
the  toil  of  man,  by  the  tears  of  women  and  children. 
You  get  it  by  grinding  human  beings  down  to  starva- 
tion wages  and  taking  the  rest,  millions  and  millions 
that  belong  to  the  workers,  but  go  into  your  fat  pock- 
ets, because  you're  strong  enough  and  cruel  enough  to 
take  it,  and  that's  how  you  get  such  places  as  Lung 
Block,  and  such  monsters  as  John  J.  Haggleton." 


FATHER   AND   SON  65 

There  was  a  hasty  knock  at  the  door,  which  was 
opened  almost  at  the  same  moment. 

Haggleton's  secretary,  a  man  of  middle  age,  neutral 
mannered,  but  capable  looking,  stuck  in  his  head. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  and  added,  addressing  his 
employer  direct :  "  Mr.  Haggleton,  you've  only  a  few 
minutes  if  you  want  to  sail  with  this  tide." 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  Phillip  and  Gentle 
suddenly  received  the  impression  that  they  were  in  the 
presence  of  an  irresistible  force,  which  it  would  be 
calamitous  to  withstand.  They  both  felt  as  if  some 
giant  were  straining  at  his  chains,  bent  upon  destruc- 
tion. And  yet  Haggleton  hardly  raised  his  voice,  his 
face  barely  changed,  as  he  bit  out  the  words : 

"  When  I  want  you  I'll  send  for  you,  Grimes." 

"  I — I — am  sorry,  sir,  I — I — thought " 

"  When  I  want  you  I  will  send  for  you,  Grimes. 
That  will  do." 

The  man  retired  hastily.  Gentle  looked  uneasy.  He 
had  had  his  first  glimpse  of  the  master  will  that  had 
beaten  down  formidable  obstacles  to  make  of  them  the 
foundations  of  its  fortune.  But  Phillip's  next  words 
recalled  him  to  the  new  turn  affairs  had  suddenly  taken. 

"  Are  you,"  said  the  young  man  in  blank  amaze- 
ment, "  are  you  John  J.  Haggleton?  " 

"  That's  my  name." 

"  But " — he  turned  in  bewilderment  to  Gentle — 
"  did  you  think  that  his  name  was  Jackson  ?  " 

The  old  diver  looked  at  the  millionaire  for  aid  in 
this  emergency  so  unexpectedly  thrust  upon  him. 

"  No,  Phillip.  But  there  was  a  reason  for  intro- 
ducing Mr.  Haggleton  in  that  way." 


66  THE   BATTLE 

"  A  very  simple  reason,"  Haggleton  explained 
smoothly.  "  I  want  to  study  tenement  conditions 
without  newspaper  notoriety." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Now  go  on  with  what  you  were  saying.  And, 
mind  you,  continue  to  be  frank.  I  am  here  to  learn." 

"  I  will  be  frank,  Mr.  Haggleton.  My  answer  to 
you  is,  what's  the  use?  You  can't  settle  the  prob- 
lems of  poverty -while  your  yacht  waits." 

"  I  can  give  certain  orders,  can't  I  ?  I  can  author- 
ize certain  improvements.  Talk  quick." 

But  Phillip  only  shook  his  head. 

"  That's  the  way  with  you  rich  people,"  he  com- 
mented in  deep  discouragement.  "  You  think  that  you 
can  settle  anything  and  everything  by  signing  a  check. 
Well,  Mr.  Haggleton,  that  is  your  great  mistake — the 
great  mistake  of  all  of  you.  You  can't  do  it.  The 
only  real  help  for  the  poor  comes  through  love,  and 
you  cannot  pay  some  one  to  love  for  you.  You  might 
as  well  pay  some  one  to  eat  for  you,  or  breathe  for 
you,  or  sleep  for  you." 

The  young  man  waited  for  a  moment  as  if  search- 
ing his  mind  for  a  closing  argument.  Then  with  a 
flash  of  inspiration  he  concluded : 

"  You've  got  to  do  your  loving  yourself! " 

Haggleton  started,  looked  at  him  intently,  shifted 
his  gaze  to  Gentle's  face,  and  repeated  thoughtfully, 
slowly : 

"  You've  got  to  do  your  loving  yourself!  I  never 
thought  of  that !  " 

A  train  of  thought  had  been  started  in  his  mind 
which  he  tried  to  follow  to  its  conclusion,  while  at  the 


FATHER   AND   SON  67 

same  time  he  continued  the  discussion.  He  would 
have  to  do  his  loving  himself!  There  lay  the  solu- 
tion, the  way  to  overcome  the  influences  that  had  been 
exerted  to  array  his  son  against  him. 

Aloud,  he  said: 

"  After  all,  there  must  be  a  lot  of  these  poor  people 
who  are  not  worth  loving.  They  bring  their  misfor- 
tunes upon  themselves.  I  say  that  the  average  man 
can  conquer  these  tenement  conditions  if  he  will  work 
and  save  and  be  patient.  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about :  I  started  in  a  tenement  myself." 

"  That  was  years  ago,"  objected  Gentle. 

"  Conditions  have  changed  since  then,"  added 
Phillip. 

Haggleton  laughed  scornfully. 

"  The  stock  argument,"  he  commented,  "  I  have 
heard  it  a  thousand  times.  It  isn't  true.  I  tell  you  it 
isn't  true !  "  His  face  became  aggressive,  his  eye 
lighted  up  as  he  continued :  "  A  man  with  the  right 
stuff  in  him  can  win  out  against  poverty  just  as  well 
to-day  as  he  ever  could." 

"  A  man  like  Moran !  "  Phillip's  voice  was  incredu- 
lous. 

"  Who  is  Moran  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Your  tenant  here." 

"  He  had  a  small  oil  business  in  the  West,"  ex- 
plained Gentle ;  "  your  system  absorbed  it." 

"  Now  he's  a  baker's  assistant,"  concluded  Phillip. 

Haggleton  got  up  again  and  walked  around  the 
room.  The  thought  that  was  working  in  his  brain 
was  gradually  approaching  its  conclusion.  But  his 
eyes  were  busy,  none  the  less,  taking  in  every 


68  THE   BATTLE 

evidence  of  disorderliness,  of  unnecessary  dirt  and 
neglect. 

"  Moran  can't  be  much  good  if  this  is  the  way  he 
keeps  his  place,"  he  announced  with  decision. 

"  He's  half  sick."  It  was  Phillip  who  was  impa- 
tient now. 

"  So  am  I  half  sick,  and  more  than  half.  I  have 
been  half  sick  for  twenty  years.  Upon  my  word,  I  be- 
lieve that  half  the  work  of  the  world  is  done  by  men 
who  are  half  sick."  And  he  added  as  an  afterthought : 
"  I  suppose  that  the  other  half  is  left  undone  by  the 
men  who  are  well." 

Then  he  came  back  to  his  two  companions  and 
asked  briefly: 

"  How  much  does  Moran  earn?  " 

"  Nine  dollars  a  week." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  in  Moran's  place?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Phillip  viciously.  "  In  Moran's 
place  you'd  do  about  the  same  as  he  does." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  I  know  it." 

Haggleton  made  another  turn  of  the  room. 

"  If  I  only  had  time,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  And 
he  added,  lower  still :  "  I'll  have  to  do  my  loving  my- 
self." 

The  thought  had  found  its  conclusion  in  the  mil- 
lionaire's brain. 

"Does  this  junk  belong  to  Moran?"  he  asked 
briskly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Not  a  bad  antique  hatstand,  that,"  Haggleton 
began  his  inventory,  "  but  it's  in  the  way.  We  could 


FATHER   AND   SON  69 

get  something  for  it  from  a  dealer  if  we  let  him  know 
that  we  knew.  And  we  ought  to  get  something  on 
these  marble  clocks.  We  don't  need  that  sewing  ma- 
chine— it  looks  as  if  it  were  never  used,  anyhow.  H'm, 
I  guess  we  could  get  thirty  dollars  on  the  truck  in 
this  room." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

Phillip  and  Gentle  looked  at  each  other  in  blank 
amazement. 

"  See  here,"  said  Haggleton  briskly,  squaring  his 
shoulders,  tightening  his  jaw,  and  assuming  a  com- 
bative attitude.  "  See  here,  you  two,  are  you  will- 
ing to  let  me  prove  my  contention  in  my  own 
way  ?  " 

"  That  a  man  with  the  right  stuff  in  him  can  win 
out  against  poverty  just  as  well  to-day  as  he  ever 
could?  Is  that  what  you  mean?"  asked  Phillip. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  willing,"  said  Gentle  significantly. 

Haggleton  saw  the  challenge  hidden  in  the  words 
and  nodded  emphatically. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  Phillip  began  cautiously. 

"  Get  me  some  paper.  I  am  going  to  send  orders 
to  the  captain  of  my  yacht — that  he  sail  at  once,  as 
arranged,  only  I  shall  not  be  on  board." 

"  He  is  to  sail  without  you  ?  " 

"  Without  me,  and  he  is  to  keep  away  from  wire- 
less-telegraph apparatuses,  ports  of  call,  yacht-club 
stations — he  is  to  have  no  communication  with  any- 
one, if  possible.  If  it  cannot  be  helped,  he  must  sig- 
nal :  '  Owner  on  board.  All  well.'  He  will  hate  to  do 
that,  though." 


7o  THE   BATTLE 

"  But — "  said  Phillip,  growing  more  and  more  bewil- 
dered. 

"  You  understand  me,  Mr.  Gentle  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,  Mr.  Haggleton." 

The  two  elderly  men  exchanged  another  look  of 
challenge  and  understanding. 

"  I  impose  secrecy  on  both  of  you,"  continued  Hag- 
gleton, now  blazing  with  energy. 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  on  the  yacht  ?  "  hazarded 
Phillip. 

"  No,  my  young  reforming  friend,  I  am  going  to 
stay  here.  I  am  going  to  win  a  little  bet  I  have  made 
with  your  friend,  Mr.  Gentle.  And  I  am  going  to 
show  you  what  John  J.  Haggleton  would  do  if  he  had 
to  hustle  in  a  tenement  without  a  dollar ! " 


CHAPTER   VI 

AN    IMPORTANT  DECISION 

JOHN  J.  HAGGLETON,  at  sixty,  had  promised 
that  he  would  show  Phillip  what  he  would  do — 
what  he  could  do — if  he  had  to  hustle  in  a  tenement 
without  a  dollar! 

He  had  accepted  Gentle's  challenge!  He  was  to 
uproot  the  old  diver's  teaching  of  social  discontent 
and  replace  it  with  his  own  gospel  of  individualism! 

And  he  had  come  to  see  that  he  must  do  his  loving 
himself.  The  young  man  must  not  merely  be  con- 
vinced, he  must  be  won! 

The  sooner  he  began  the  sooner  it  would  be  done. 
Of  his  ultimate  success  he  had  no  doubt. 

So  he  started  at  once,  and  Phillip  and  Gentle,  used 
in  their  own  dangerous  work  to  quick  decisions  and 
their  even  more  rapid  execution,  received  their  first 
illustration  of  the  executive  ability  of  a  master  of 
industry. 

"  I  will  start  fair,"  said  Haggleton  briefly  to  Gentle. 
"  I  will  keep  nothing  but  the  clothes  I  stand  in — and 
two  dollars.  That's  what  I  started  with  the  first  time. 
Moran  started  with  more  than  that?  Two  dollars 
will  suffice  for  me.  My  clothes  I  can  sell  and  buy  a 
suit  more  fitting  for  a  penniless  man  looking  for  a 
job.  The  difference  in  price  I  will  add  to  my  capital. 


72  THE   BATTLE 

You  will  have  to  explain  me  to  Moran,  and  make  him 
take  me  as  a  boarder.  I  am  Mr.  Jackson,  a  small 
business  man  ruined  by  the  Trust." 

Then  he  added  to  Phillip : 

"  Call  my  secretary." 

The  man  was  just  outside  the  door  and  entered 
hastily. 

"  I  wish  to  be  alone  with  Mr.  Grimes  for  a  few 
moments." 

Phillip  and  Gentle  withdrew  to  the  hall. 

"  Sit  down,  Grimes,"  motioned  Haggleton,  drawing 
up  one  of  the  battered  chairs. 

Grimes  obeyed  with  a  quick,  puzzled  glance  at  his 
master.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "  The  yacht 
was  to  sail  in  twenty  minutes,"  he  remonstrated; 
"  you  will  lose  the  tide." 

Haggleton  smiled  grimly  through  half-closed  eyes, 
as  Grimes  had  seen  him  smile  before  some  master 
stroke  in  a  great  business  deal.  "  Plenty  of  time ! 
The  fact  is,  I — I'm  not  going  on  the  yacht." 

"  Ah !  Then  I'm  to  countermand  the  sailing  or- 
ders?" 

Haggleton  shook  his  head.  "  I  said  I  am  not  going, 
but — the  orders  stand." 

"  You  mean  that " 

"  I  mean  that  the  yacht  goes,  but  I  stay  here — 
here  in  this  tenement — I'm  going  to  live  here." 

In  the  twenty  years  that  he  had  served  this  ex- 
traordinary man,  Grimes  had  received  various  shocks 
and  faced  many  strange  situations,  but  nothing  in 
all  his  experience  had  equaled  this;  indeed,  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  it  remained  a  source  of  pride  to  him 


AN   IMPORTANT   DECISION 


73 


that  his  face  betrayed  no  emotion  at  this  staggering 
announcement.  "  I  see,"  he  said  quietly ;  but  what 
he  thought  he  really  saw  was  evidence  that  this  won- 
derful mind  was  breaking  down. 

This  apprehension,  however,  was  immediately  re- 
lieved when  the  millionaire,  in  a  few  sentences,  ex- 
plained the  situation  and  made  it  clear  that  he  had 
chosen  the  only  possible  course  in  the  circumstances. 
As  to  the  evidence  that  Gentle  held  against  him,  he 
did  not  speak  in  detail,  but  he  let  Grimes  understand 
that  he  would  suffer  grave  injury  if  it  were  made 
public.  Worst  of  all,  if  he  broke  with  Gentle  now, 
he  would  almost  certainly  lose  his  son;  whereas,  by 
following  this  way  of  daily  intimacy  with  him,  he 
hoped  to  gain  such  supremacy  over  the  boy  in  a 
few  weeks  that  nothing  which  might  afterwards  be 
brought  against  him  would  effect  a  rupture.  Haggle- 
ton  said  all  this  in  cold,  precise  words,  but  Grimes 
knew  that  at  last  something  had  come  near  to  stirring 
the  heart  of  this  hard  and  lonely  man;  he  had  found 
his  son,  and  now,  at  any  risk  or  cost,  he  proposed  to 
keep  him. 

So,  without  sign  of  surprise  or  opposition,  this 
most  discerning  of  secretaries  fell  in  with  his  mas- 
ter's wish;  indeed,  he  seemed  to  find  it  quite  natural 
that  a  man  whose  riches  and  power  were  beyond 
calculation  should  be  adopting  the  humble  existence 
of  a  tenement  dweller. 

"  Will  you  communicate  with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 

"Am  I  to  sail  on  the  yacht?" 

"  Of  course.     You  will  take  my  orders  and  see 


74 


THE   BATTLE 


that  they  are  executed.  I  shall  write  a  note  for 
the  captain,  telling  him  to  carry  out  exactly  the  in- 
structions already  agreed  upon." 

"For  a  three  months'  cruise?" 

"  Yes.  See  to  it  that  the  news  does  not  get  out 
that  I  am  not  on  board.  Down  here  there's  not  one 
chance  in  a  thousand  that  I  will  be  discovered,  and — 
Grimes,  I  have  another  reason  for  wanting  every- 
one to  think  me  aboard  that  yacht." 

Grimes  looked  at  Haggleton  searchingly.  "  Another 
reason  besides — besides  your  son  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know  how  Bates  went  off  yesterday. 
He  hates  me,  hates  me,  and — he'll  pay  up  somehow, 
but  he'll  never  stop  fighting.  Grimes,"  he  lowered 
his  voice,  "  as  soon  as  those  fellows  know  I'm  away 
on  a  three  months'  cruise  they'll  start  some  new  dev- 
iltry against  me,  and " — he  leaned  forward  with  a 
cunning  smile — "  it  might  be  amusing  and  profitable 
to  be  right  here  in  Manhattan  watching  them." 

Grimes  nodded  admiringly. 

"  Run  up  to  the  house  now  and  see  Wilson  before 
you  sail — you  won't  lose  more  than  an  hour.  Tell 
him  to  keep  an  eye  on  Bates  and  his  crowd  and  to 
send  confidential  reports  every  week  to  Phillip  Ames, 
care  of  the  Atlantic  Wrecking  Company.  Let  him 
put  a  little  circle  on  the  envelopes  and — I  want  these 
reports  written  as  if  they  were  for  me." 

"  Is  Wilson  to  know  that  you  are  here  ? " 

"  He's  to  know  nothing  and  think  nothing  and  say 
nothing." 

Grimes  bowed  in  understanding.  "  Anything  else  ?  " 
Haggleton  hesitated,  and  glanced  toward  the  door. 


AN   IMPORTANT   DECISION  75 

"  I — I'd  like  to  have  you  see  my  boy  again.  Remem- 
ber him,  and — if  anything  should  happen  to  me,  why 
— remember  him,  Grimes,  he's  my  son.  That  man 
Gentle  has  the  evidence." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Haggleton  leaned  closer  still  and,  with  more  emo- 
tion than  Grimes  had  ever  known  him  to  show,  said 
almost  in  a  whisper :  "  While  I  live,  you'll  never 
breathe  this.  I'm  trusting  you,  Grimes,  as  I  never 
trusted  a  human  being." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your — your  confidence,"  and 
he  clasped  the  hand  that  his  master  extended. 

Haggleton  opened  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  please,"  he  called. 

Gentle  and  Phillip  entered.  Grimes  observed  the 
young  man  closely.  Yes,  there  was  no  room  for 
doubt — this  was  Haggleton's  son — the  child  of  the 
painting  in  his  study. 

"  Is  everything  arranged  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 

"  Everything  except  the  note  to  the  captain,"  re- 
plied Haggleton.  "  I'll  need  pen  and  paper." 

"  In  that  drawer,"  Phillip  pointed. 

The  millionaire  sat  at  the  bare  wooden  table  and 
rapidly  wrote  his  instructions.  Then  he  sealed  them 
and  addressed  the  envelope.  "  There,  I  think  that's 
all,"  he  concluded,  giving  it  to  Grimes. 

The  four  men  stood  facing  each  other.  There  was 
a  moment  of  tense  silence. 

"Well,"  remarked  the  secretary  thoughtfully, 
"  we're  off  on  a  strange  cruise." 

"Does  Mr.  Grimes  sail  on  the  yacht?"  inquired 
Phillip. 


76 


THE   BATTLE 


"  Of  course,"  answered  Haggleton.  "  He  will  see 
that  my  orders  are  obeyed." 

Grimes  moved  toward  the  door,  but  suddenly  turned. 
"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  what  shall  we  do  about  the  chauf- 
feur? He  may  talk." 

"  Take  him  with  you,"  decided  Haggleton. 

"  And  the  automobile  ?  " 

"  Take  that,  too." 

A  smile  broke  the  tensity  of  Grimes's  look  and,  with 
a  final  good-by,  he  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Sit  down  a  minute  now,  you  two,"  said  Haggleton  ; 
"  I  have  one  or  two  things  to  ask  you." 

A  remarkable  change  had  come  over  him ;  his  eyes 
were  alert,  his  face  firm  but  good-natured ;  he  seemed 
pleased  with  himself  and  with  things  in  general. 
Phillip  observed  this  with  surprise. 

"  So  you  want  me  to  taste  of  poverty  ?  "  said  Hag- 
gleton— "  to  put  myself  into  Moran's  place  ?  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  Phillip. 

"  You  want  me  to  see  what  life  would  be  if  I  had 
to  face  these  tenement  conditions  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  If  I  were  a  poor  man  here  I'd  be  free  to  fight 
the  battle  of  poverty  as  I  pleased,  wouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  You  are  willing  to  let  me  work  this  out  in  my 
own  way,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Why — er — I — I  suppose  so,  but  what  is  your 
plan?" 

Haggleton  looked  Phillip  straight  in  the  eyes,  and 
then  said  with  compelling  emphasis: 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  am  going  to  show  you  what 


AN   IMPORTANT   DECISION  77 

John  J.  Haggleton  would  do  if  he  had  to  hustle  in  a 
tenement." 

He  now  turned  to  Gentle  and  began  to  fire  rapid 
questions  at  him.  Moran?  A  morose  man,  who 
ascribed  his  failure  to  the  iniquity  of  a  trust.  Quite 
so.  After  his  first  failure  he  had  simply  stopped 
struggling?  Just  so.  He  was  a  baker's  assistant? 
Could  he  get  "  Mr.  Jackson  "  a  place  in  the  bakery  ? 
Mr.  Jackson  thought  that  he  would  like  to  have  a 
try  at  the  bakery  business.  Jenny?  Hard-working, 
well-meaning,  but  overwhelmed  by  her  dispiriting  en- 
vironment and  the  privations  of  poverty.  Inclined  to 
let  things  run  themselves?  Know  nothing  of  eco- 
nomical housekeeping?  Of  order?  Too  discouraged 
to  keep  things  clean?  Just  as  he  thought. 

Haggleton  looked  around  the  room  again.  His 
questions  were  in  reality  but  affirmations  of  the  con- 
clusions he  had  already  drawn  from  the  evidence  his 
quick  eyes  had  gathered. 

Joe  Caffrey?  Light-hearted  and  shiftless?  Char- 
acter entirely  unformed?  Unmoral?  Well,  well,  Joe 
must  become  their  charge. 

In  ten  minutes  John  J.  knew  all  he  cared  to  know. 
As  in  the  organization  of  his  gigantic  undertaking,  so 
now  here,  in  this  hovel,  he  had  begun  by  estimating  the 
possibilities  of  those  with  whom  he  would  have  to 
deal.  During  the  conversation  he  had  watched  his 
son  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  seen  the  look  of 
interest,  growing  into  admiration,  upon  his  face.  Ah, 
yes,  he  had  made  a  good  beginning. 

Haggleton  rose  and  took  a  final  turn  of  the  room. 

"  When  I  came  to  this  city  nearly  forty  years  ago," 


7g  THE   BATTLE 

he  announced,  "  this  was  a  clean  district.  Now  it  is  a 
dirty  one.  American  cleanliness  has  been  submerged 
by  foreign  shiftlessness.  Within  a  week  I  will  have 
this  home  of  native  Americans  as  neat  as  a  New  Eng- 
land farmhouse." 

Where  was  he  to  sleep?  Joe  Caffrey  would  be 
Phillip's  guest  for  a  day  or  two?  All  right.  That 
nurse  had  said  that  the  children  ought  to  be  in  a 
hospital?  All  right.  Gentle  would  see  to  it  that  they 
went  that  very  day  and  get  their  father's  consent? 
All  right. 

Gentle  went  on  his  mission,  Haggleton  accompany- 
ing him  to  sell  his  clothes  and  buy  cheaper  ones. 
Phillip  stayed  behind  to  wait  for  Jenny,  to  ask  her  to 
accept  this  new  boarder  and  make  arrangements  for 
his  first  night  there. 

The  young  man  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
He  had  time  now  to  review  the  hurried  happenings 
of  the  preceding  two  hours. 

What  a  hustler  that  man  Haggleton  was!  What 
decision,  what  determination!  Wouldn't  he  make  a 
bully  master  diver?  Up  to  the  most  dangerous  job, 
full  of  resources,  ready  for  any  emergency!  How 
he'd  like  to  be  with  him  down  in  fifty  feet  of  water, 
working  together  on  a  bad  wreck  on  a  stormy  day! 
Wouldn't  they  establish  some  records  together  ?  Why, 
they  would  have  a  wrecking  company  of  their  own 
within  a  year! 

The  spirit  of  John  J.  Haggleton,  the  master  of  men, 
the  master  of  his  destiny,  had  begun  to  stir  faintly, 
dimly,  in  the  breast  of  his  son.  Like  had  called  to 
like  for  the  very  first  time  after  twenty  years  of  an 


AN    IMPORTANT   DECISION 


79 


opposing  influence,  and  recognition  was  already  dawn- 
ing.   Yes,  Phillip  was  his  father's  son! 

Jenny  returned  home  with  her  basket  of  images 
to  be  gilded,  and  welcomed  an  addition  to  their  re- 
sources in  the  form  of  a  boarder  who  would  be  far 
less  trouble  than  the  two  children,  and  more  profitable. 
Mr.  Jackson,  Phillip  informed  her,  had  seen  better 
days — in  fact,  until  quite  recently  he  had  lived  in  easy 
circumstances.  She  eagerly  accepted  his  offer  to  bor- 
row some  clean  bed  linen  and  a  few  towels  from  his 
landlady,  and  with  the  acceptance  of  the  offer  there 
awoke  in  her  a  womanly  instinct,  long  dormant — the 
instinct  to  have  her  realm,  the  home  over  which  she 
presided,  look  well  in  the  eyes  of  a  stranger.  Mr. 
Jackson  had  been  used,  no  doubt,  to  order  and  clean- 
liness. 

Tired  as  she  was,  depressed  by  the  knowledge  that 
she  had  lost  Phillip,  she  began  to  set  the  room  to 
rights.  It  amounted  to  no  more  as  yet  than  the 
covering  up  of  dirt,  not  its  removal,  but  it  was  at 
least  a  beginning.  John  J.'s  spirit,  working  at  second 
hand  through  Phillip,  strengthened  a  hundredfold  by 
her  love  for  the  young  man,  began  to  exert  its  in- 
fluence here,  too.  She  became  interested. 

Margaret  Lawrence,  entering  from  the  inner  room, 
found  her  energetically  at  work,  arranging  her  few 
cooking  utensils  on  the  stove,  cleaning  the  sink,  mak- 
ing a  distinction  between  the  box  that  contained  the 
coal  and  the  basket  that  held  the  potatoes.  Phillip 
was  driving  in  nails  and  bringing  some  order  into 
the  box  that  served  as  a  tool  chest.  He  was  willing, 


8o  THE   BATTLE 

but  inexperienced ;  poor  Jenny  had  no  idea  of  organi- 
zation, but  they  did  their  best.  Margaret  did  not 
consider  it  proper  to  make  suggestions  outside  the 
sick  room. 

The  young  lovers  refrained  from  all  manifestation 
of  their  affection,  Jenny's  secret  dread.  Moreover, 
the  nurse  soon  returned  to  her  charges,  to  prepare 
them  for  their  visit  to  the  hospital,  entertaining  them 
with  glowing  pictures  of  the  beautiful  white  beds,  the 
large,  quiet  rooms,  the  kind  ladies  who  would  come 
to  visit  them,  and  the  heavenly  sweetness  of  the  nurses 
— "  just  like  herself,  and  much  nicer,"  she  assured 
Benny,  who  was  most  particular  and  persistent  on 
that  point. 

Gentle  returned,  accompanied  by  the  ambulance. 
He  was  a  man  of  standing  and  much  respected  in 
that  part  of  the  city.  The  children  were  bundled  off, 
with  much  excitement  on  their  part  and  many  fare- 
wells, Margaret — final  treat  exacted  from  her — rid- 
ing with  them! 

Jenny  retired  to  her  room,  and  soon  returned,  her 
hair  neatly  done,  neatly  dressed,  a  look  of  interest  on 
her  face.  Phillip,  seeing  her,  approved,  and  smiled 
kindly.  That  smile  sufficed  to  make  her  happy  for  the 
rest  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MR.    JACKSON    STARTS   LIFE   ANEW 

HAGGLETON— now  "  Mr.  Jackson  "—returned 
soon  after,  having  sold  his  expensive  clothes 
and  bought  with  the  proceeds  a  simple  suit,  better 
adapted  to  the  role  he  was  to  play. 

Jenny  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Jackson,  whom  Gentle 
introduced,  and  bade  him  make  himself  at  home.  Gen- 
tle went  away. 

The  new  boarder  took  off  his  coat  and  offered  to 
help.  Without  waiting  for  an  acceptance  of  the  offer, 
he  began.  He  was  deferential — he  had  "  beautiful 
manners,"  Jenny  concluded — asking  permission  even 
while  he  set  to  work.  In  this  way  he  brought  some 
order  into  the  chaos  of  the  young  woman's  domestic 
economy.  It  was  a  mere  scraping  of  the  surface,  but 
— when  it  had  been  accomplished  Jenny  was  firmly 
convinced  that  it  was  she  who  had  made  the  sugges- 
tions, Mr.  Jackson  who  had  merely  carried  them  out. 

The  beds  were  now  on  one  side  of  the  room,  the 
table  stood  on  the  other  side,  near  enough  to  the  stove 
to  suggest  a  dining  room,  yet  far  enough  away  to 
serve  as  the  social  center  of  a  parlor.  Two  chairs 
stood  invitingly  beside  it.  The  loose  handle  of  her 
own  sleeping  closet — he  called  it  her  "  private  room  " 
— had  been  secured  with  a  small  screw  extracted  from 
the  mass  of  nails  in  the  tool  box,  the  rug  had  been 

It 


82  THE   BATTLE 

turned  with  amazing  effect,  and  the  shoe  brush  pro- 
vided with  a  piece  of  string  by  which  to  hang  it  on 
one  of  the  lower  hooks  of  the  hatstand.  Mr.  Jack- 
son also  had  driven  several  nails  in  the  wall  behind 
the  bed — the  "  wardrobe,"  he  explained  in  jest — and 
wound  up,  with  the  aid  of  a  fork,  the  spring  of  one  of 
the  roller  shades,  which  had  been  out  of  order  for 
weeks. 

This  was  all,  he  decided,  that  he  could  safely  ven- 
ture to  do  just  then. 

"  My,  but  you're  handy,"  said  Jenny,  glancing 
around  contentedly  at  the  new  arrangement  of  the 
room,  and  the  various  small  improvements. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Miss  Jenny — may  I  call  you  that  ? 
they  all  do — I  am  an  old  bachelor,  and  used  to  doing 
things  for  myself.  You  don't  mind  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Glad  of  it,  and  thank  you.  I  have 
so  much  to  do  I  never  seem  to  get  a  chance  to  do 
any  one  thing  thoroughly." 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  help  you  from  time  to 
time?" 

"  You  won't  have  time  after  you  get  a  job.  You 
will  be  just  as  tired  then  as  I." 

"  Well,  let  me  try." 

Jenny  looked  at  the  alarm  clock. 

"  Father  will  be  home  soon  for  dinner  now,"  she 
announced,  "  and  Joe.  You  know  Joe  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Gentle  has  told  me  about  him." 

"  He  is  my  brother-in-law.  He  means  well,  and  I 
am  very  fond  of  him,  but — oh,  well !  " 

She  sighed  and  laughed,  then  set  about  the  prepar- 
ations for  dinner. 


MR.   JACKSON    STARTS    LIFE   ANEW     83 

Haggleton's  heart  sank  a  little  as  he  watched  her. 
He  thought  of  the  dyspepsia  that  had  been  his  burden 
for  nearly  twenty  years,  of  the  precarious  state  of 
his  health,  which  had  forced  him  to  consent  to  his 
physician's  prescription — that  yachting  trip — then  set 
his  teeth.  It  was  for  his  son!  Moreover,  he  had 
lived  for  so  long  on  nothing  but  dry  toast,  and  that 
he  certainly  could  have.  Wholesome  bread  was  cer- 
tainly to  be  had  down  in  this  part  of  the  city — the 
proverbial  staff  of  life  of  the  poor.  And — why,  yes 
— he  was  going  to  be  a  baker,  just  like  Moran! 

Moran  arrived,  worn  out,  in  a  vile  humor.  Jenny 
introduced  the  new  boarder  to  him. 

The  baker's  assistant  looked  Mr.  Jackson  over  with 
listless  curiosity,  which  changed  to  ill-concealed  hos- 
tility when  he  saw  the  neatness  of  the  newcomer's 
clothes  and  his  well-kept  hands.  He  himself  had  been 
like  that  once!  Moreover,  the  man  had  an  insuffer- 
able air  of  distinction.  Who  and  what  was  he  to  look 
like  that?  Nothing  but  a  failure,  endeavoring  to  find 
a  new  foothold  in  life. 

Moran  resolved  to  establish  the  proper  relations  at 
once. 

"  I  am  Moran,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  Jackson. 
'  Mr.'  doesn't  go  down  here." 

"  All  right,  Moran.     Jackson  it  is." 

There  fell  a  silence.  Jenny  kept  busy  with  her  cook- 
ing. Moran  continued  to  scowl.  Jackson  looked  at 
the  three  clocks. 

Joe  arrived,  having  lost  Jenny's  two  dollars,  but 
cheerful  as  ever.  He  had  been  at  a  fire,  seen  an  ar- 
rest, and  had  been  almost  successful  in  promoting  a 


84  THE   BATTLE 

street  fight.  He  had  had  a  very  enjoyable  day,  on 
the  whole,  and  he  was  hungry. 

The  new  boarder  interested  him,  and  he  began  to 
make  his  acquaintance,  his  method  being  the  not  un- 
usual one  of  asking  innocently  impertinent  questions. 
He,  however,  had  no  objection  to  saying  "  Mr."  Jack- 
son, and  was  smoothly  called  "  Mr."  Caffrey  in  re- 
turn. 

Haggleton  saw  another  opportunity,  and,  as  usual, 
he  took  it.  He  talked  to  Joe,  but  at  Moran. 

Yes,  he  was  looking  for  a  job.  No,  he  had  not 
saved  a  penny  out  of  his  failure. 

"  Huh,"  commented  Joe,  "  when  I  fail  it  will  be  the 
other  fellow  who  will  do  the  worrying.  You  bet  he 
wouldn't  get  every  cent  away  from  me." 

Yes,  Mr.  Jackson  had  plans.  He  was  going  to  win 
back  what  he  had  lost.  Haggleton  enjoyed  the  double 
meaning  of  this  speech,  but  Moran  snorted. 

"  Once  you  are  down  and  out,  you  stay  down  and 
out,"  he  snarled. 

"  Well,  I  will  try,  anyhow." 

"  You  won't  get  the  opportunity,"  persisted  Moran. 

"  I  shan't  wait  for  it.    I  will  create  it." 

"  Stuff !  Once  you  are  down  and  out,  you  might 
as  well  quit.  The  capitalists  have  framed  it  all  up." 

"  I  thought  you'd  smoke  up,  Moran,"  interjected  his 
irreverent  son-in-law :  "  I  knew  you  wouldn't  let  your 
pipe  go  out." 

And  he  added,  turning  to  Haggleton: 

"  Now  listen  to  him,  Mr.  Jackson — the  trusts,  the 
wrongs  of  labor,  the  tyranny  of  the  rich.  Oh,  say, 
I've  heard  enough  to  set  up  as  a  socialist  speaker 


MR.   JACKSON    STARTS   LIFE   ANEW     85 

myself.  And  all  that  chin  music  don't  do  any  good, 
either." 

But  Moran  was  launched.  He  snarled  and  cursed, 
denounced  and  accused — all  the  long  litany  of  his 
losses,  his  failure,  his  poverty. 

Haggleton  listened  attentively,  analyzing  the  man's 
arguments  as  they  flowed  from  his  now  fluent  lips. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  heard  the  voice  of 
social  discontent  direct.  Heretofore  he  had  given  it 
merely  a  hasty  moment  of  attention  as  it  expressed 
itself  in  press  reports  or  magazine  articles. 

What  impressed  him  most  strongly  about  Moran's 
tirade  was  that  the  man  placed  upon  the  shoulders  of 
the  rich,  not  only  the  responsibility  for  all  the  wrongs 
of  society,  but  also  the  entire  duty  of  righting  them. 
They  were  to  be  made  to  disgorge  their  ill-gotten 
gains,  they  were  to  be  forced  to  hand  over  the  greater 
part  of  the  earnings  of  their  labor  and  ability  to  the 
workers,  who,  in  their  turn,  it  appeared,  would  do  no 
more  than  now,  rather  less. 

They  must  assume  the  heavy  task  of  social  reor- 
ganization, abdicate  willingly  the  advantages  they  had 
won,  while  "  the  people "  stood  by,  a  club  in  their 
hands,  and  saw  to  it  that  they  did  it.  Shorter  hours 
of  labor,  better  pay,  free  opportunity,  better  educa- 
tion, lower  rents,  better  living  quarters.  .  .  . 

Joe  became  impatient. 

"  Stop  gassin',  Moran,"  he  said  tersely.  "  I  al- 
ways tell  him  that  he's  smokin'  the  wrong  dope,  Mr. 
Jackson.  Phillip  Ames  and  Mr.  Gentle,  now,  they  talk 
sense,  at  any  rate.  Say,  Moran,  you  wouldn't  hang 
on  to  your  money  if  you  were  rich,  eh?  " 


86  THE   BATTLE 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  rich,  Mr.  Caff- 
rey  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Oh,  say,  you  just  watch  me.  I'd  be  at  the  track 
every  day  at  2.45,  in  the  grand  stand.  Wouldn't  I 
wear  the  sporty  clothes !  I'd  put  a  thousand  on  every 
race,  one,  two,  three,  and  a  thousand  straight  on  every 
hundred  to  one  shot.  You  wouldn't  catch  me  goin'  off 
on  any  three  months'  trip  on  a  yacht  with  the  ponies 
runnin'  at  New  Orleans." 

"  You  would  soon  be  rid  of  your  money,  Mr.  Caff- 
rey." 

"  Not  me.  Say,  do  you  think  that  the  millionaires 
haven't  got  the  races  fixed,  like  everything  else?  They 
know  the  owners  and  the  trainers  and  the  jockeys 
and  the  starters — oh,  say,  it  is  a  pipe." 

Haggleton  was  genuinely  astonished.  So,  if  he 
should  happen  to  bet  in  a  horse  race,  it  would  be  as- 
sumed that  here,  too,  he  was  crooked? 

But  Joe  was  continuing  his  picture  of  riches  beyond 
the  dreams  of  avarice: 

"  Not  but  that  I  wouldn't  be  willin'  to  own  a  million- 
dollar  yacht  like  John  J.,"  he  continued. 

Moran  sprang  up. 

"  The  thief !  "  he  shouted ;  "  the  robber,  the  blood- 
sucker, the  murderer!  He  has  made  me  what  I  am. 
He  has  killed  my  daughter's  husband,  he — he " 

The  man  choked. 

"  His  daughter's  husband,  my  brother-in-law,"  ex- 
plained Joe  very  calmly,  "  was  killed  at  a  grade  cross- 
ing by  a  train  on  a  road  in  which  John  J.  has  a  lot 
of  stock." 

But  Moran  ranted  on. 


MR.   JACKSON    STARTS   LIFE   ANEW     87 

"  He  takes  our  money,"  he  cried,  "  and  then  he 
gets  us  down  here  into  his  filthy  tenements,  to  give 
us  consumption.  You  are  in  John  J.  Haggleton's 
Lung  Block,  Jackson!  The  bakery  I  work  in  is  in 
one  of  his  houses !  You  ought  to  see  it.  What  does 
the  Board  of  Health  do  about  it?  Nothing!  " 

"  Perhaps  Haggleton  knows  nothing  about  it  him- 
self," objected  the  millionaire. 

"  Then  it  is  his  business  to  find  out !  Say,"  con- 
tinued Moran,  suddenly  calming  down,  "  you  want 
a  job  ?  Well,  you  try  to  get  one  in  our  bakery.  Bread, 
eh?  After  you  have  worked  there  a  week  you  will 
have  to  choke  it  down !  " 

"  Dinner,"  said  Jenny  tersely.  She  had  not  paid 
the  slightest  attention  to  her  father's  rantings,  she  had 
become  so  used  to  them. 

The  three  men  rose,  drew  up  their  chairs  to  the 
table,  and  sat  down.  Haggleton  made  a  pretense  of 
eating,  but  barely  touched  anything.  He  still  devoted 
himself  to  Moran.  That  chance  reference  to  work 
in  the  bakery  must  not  be  allowed  to  pass.  At  last 
he  won  from  him  the  admission  that  a  helper  in  the 
bakery  was  sick  and  that  a  substitute  was  needed.  A 
promise  to  recommend  him  for  the  temporary  em- 
ployment was  less  easily  extracted.  Moran  was  one 
of  those  rare  exceptions  among  the  poor,  a  man  who 
will  not  help  his  neighbors. 

And  so  Haggleton  had  won  his  first  step.  He  was 
to  be  a  baker  like  Moran! 

The  conversation  still  went  on,  mostly  between  Joe 
and  his  father-in-law,  Haggleton  listening  again  in- 
tently. Yes,  he  had  been  right  in  his  judgment.  In 


88  THE   BATTLE 

Moran's  case  it  had  not  been  a  question  of  the  con- 
ditions that  confronted  the  man,  but  of  the  man  who 
confronted  the  conditions.  And  it  would  always  be 
thus. 

The  millionaire  now  turned  to  Jenny. 

"  That's  fine  coffee,"  he  said. 

The  girl  flushed  with  pleasure.  This  coffee  had 
been  her  treat  in  honor  of  the  coming  of  the  new 
boarder.  She  had  begun  to  fear  that  it  would  be 
taken  without  any  notice  in  the  heat  of  the  discus- 
sion, beyond  Joe's  humorous  assumption  of  a  finicky 
attitude  when  he  had  taken  up  his  cup  between  thumb 
and  forefinger,  the  two  middle  fingers  gracefully 
curled,  the  little  finger  elegantly  stuck  out.  Now  she 
was  rewarded. 

"  I  love  good  coffee,"  she  answered. 

"  I  used  to  keep  house  for  myself,  after  a  fashion," 
continued  the  millionaire,  "  and,  do  you  know,  I  am 
just  like  a  woman — I  take  an  interest  in  prices.  Now 
may  I  ask  what  you  pay  for  this  coffee  ?  " 

"  Eighteen  cents,"  she  said. 

"  Not  for  a  pound  ?  " 

"  No,  for  half  a  pound." 

"  Already  ground,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  H'm !  A  pound  of  good  coffee  in  the  bean  costs 
only  twenty-eight  cents.  Ah,  yes,  we  poor  people 
waste  a  lot  of  money." 

Moran  stared  at  him. 

"Waste  money?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  believe  there's  more  extravagance 
down  here  than  in  Fifth  Avenue.  Now,  Miss  Jenny, 


MR.   JACKSON    STARTS    LIFE   ANEW     89 

may  I  ask  you  another  question?  What  do  you  pay 
for  coal?" 

"  Fifteen  cents  a  bucketful,"  said  Jermy. 

"  How  much  in  a  bucketful  ?  " 

"  You  can  search  me." 

"  About  twenty-five  pounds,"  volunteered  Joe. 

"  Twenty-five  pounds,"  calculated  Haggleton. 
"  That's  eighty  bucketfuls  to  a  ton.  Eighty  times  fif- 
teen is  twelve  dollars.  You  pay  twice  as  much  for  coal 
as  Haggleton  does." 

"  He  buys  it  by  the  ton,"  growled  Moran.  "  Where 
would  we  put  a  ton  of  coal  ?  " 

"  And  where  would  we  get  six  dollars  all  at  once 
to  pay  for  it  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  If  Miss  Jenny  will  allow  me,"  replied  Haggleton, 
"  I'll  find  a  place  for  the  coal  one  of  these  days,  and 
we  may  think  up  some  scheme  of  buying  it  by  the 
ton." 

"  Now,  this  is  between  Miss  Jenny  and  me,"  he 
continued  hastily,  afraid  of  having  perhaps  gone  too 
far.  "  You  see,  I  used  to  buy  in  large  quantities,  and 
know  a  thing  or  two  about  it." 

Jenny  smiled  upon  him,  He  was  a  stranger,  he 
had  been  well  to  do  but  yesterday,  his  ways  were  prob- 
ably not  theirs.  She  took  no  offense  at  his  remarks. 
She  merely  thought  that  he  meant  well,  and  let  it  go  at 
that.  Then,  she  considered,  coffee — the  luxury  of  the 
poor — at  twenty-eight  cents!  That  would  not  be  so 
bad.  She  would  listen  carefully  to  this  old  bachelor, 
perhaps  she  could  pick  up  some  hints. 

After  dinner  Joe  lighted  his  eternal  cigarette,  Moran 
his  pipe.  Haggleton  did  not  smoke.  Jenny  washed 


go  THE   BATTLE 

her  dishes  with  more  care  than  she  had  bestowed 
upon  the  task  in  many  a  day  and  arranged  them  in 
a  more  orderly  manner  than  was  her  wont. 

Haggleton  suppressed  his  indignation  at  Joe,  who 
had  done  nothing  that  day,  and  yet  allowed  the  girl  to 
return  to  her  task  of  gilding  the  little  statuettes  with- 
out offering  to  assist  her.  An  extra  brush  and  his  help 
would  mean  a  double  output,  he  reflected.  But  he  con- 
sidered that  he  had  done  enough  for  one  day  and  that 
it  would  be  unwise  to  attempt  to  do  more. 

Jenny's  brain  was  busily  at  work  as  she  turned  one 
statuette  after  the  other,  her  brush  rapidly  passing 
over  their  surface.  She  was  planning  a  thorough 
house-cleaning,  and  then,  when  the  boarder  began  to 
pay,  several  small  purchases.  Yes,  she  liked  the  man. 
He  took  things  for  granted,  they  would  get  along  with 
him. 

But  soon  her  mind  returned  to  its  eternal  preoccu- 
pation— Phillip.  Would  he  come  that  night?  No,  of 
course  not !  He  was  over  there,  at  the  boarding  house, 
with  the  woman  he  loved.  Her  heart  contracted  with 
pain.  Oh,  if  only  she  had  not — !  Perhaps,  if  that 
episode  in  her  life  had  never  been,  he  might — !  She 
sighed  with  resignation,  bent  her  head  low  as  the 
tears  blurred  her  vision,  and  went  on  with  her  work. 
Yet  hope  would  not  be  denied.  It  entered  her  breast 
again  and  began  to  weave  another  of  its  inexhaustible 
dreams. 

Phillip  did  not  come.  Joe,  rising  after  he  had  fin- 
ished his  third  cigarette,  announced  that  the  young 
diver,  whose  guest  he  was  to  be  that  night,  expected 
him  by  ten,  and  took  his  leave  for  his  usual  evening 


MR.   JACKSON   STARTS   LIFE   ANEW    91 

stroll  in  the  Bowery.  Moran  grunted,  Mr.  Jackson 
rose  and  shook  hands. 

Gentle  arrived  at  nine  to  see  how  the  newcomer 
was  getting  along.  The  two  had  a  long  talk  on  social 
conditions,  temperate,  sensible.  The  diver  had  thought 
much  on  the  subject,  and  to  some  purpose.  He  was 
pleased  to  learn  the  standpoint  of  the  enemy.  Moran 
listened  moodily,  and  as  he  listened  there  was  born 
in  him  an  enmity  toward  this  Jackson,  who  stoutly 
maintained  that  the  first  duty  of  the  poor,  as  of  every- 
body, was  to  help  themselves. 

Jenny  rose  at  a  quarter  to  ten,  worn  out.  She 
wound  up  the  alarm  clock,  lighted  a  small  lamp,  said 
good  night  and  disappeared.  Gentle  went  soon  after- 
wards. 

Left  alone,  Moran  and  Haggleton  did  not  find  a 
word  to  say  to  each  other.  The  millionaire's  sug- 
gestion of  an  open  window  for  the  sake  of  fresh  air 
was  curtly  vetoed. 

"  We  are  glad  it's  warm  here.  You  will  need  coal 
by  the  ton,  Jackson,  if  you  want  to  go  in  for  that 
fresh-air  business.  They  are  all  preaching  it  at  us  in 
the  papers.  Let  them  tell  us  how  to  pay  for  it." 

This  was  his  last  utterance.  He  got  up  and  began 
to  undress.  His  preparations  for  the  night  consisted 
of  the  removal  of  his  coat,  waistcoat,  shirt  and  shoes. 
Then  he  slipped  into  bed,  keeping  his  trousers  on. 

Haggleton  watched  him  calmly,  suppressing  the 
thought  that  came  to  him  that  this  man  in  those  clothes 
baked  bread  for  others  to  eat.  Then  he,  too,  retired. 

He  stretched  himself  luxuriously  between  the  clean, 
fresh  sheets  upon  the  hard  mattress.  It  had  been  a 


92  THE   BATTLE 

busy  day  for  him,  and  he  felt  tired,  but  he  could  not 
sleep.  Too  much  had  happened! 

He  had  found  his  son! 

He  had  started  life  anew! 

He  had  accepted  the  challenge  to  the  greatest  battle 
of  his  career! 

And  he  must  learn  to  do  his  loving  himself ! 

Haggleton  lay  quite  still,  staring  up  at  the  darkness 
above  him.  After  his  habit,  he  allowed  the  thoughts 
and  impressions  of  the  day  to  race  through  his  brain 
without  attempt  to  control  them.  It  was  thus  that  he 
had  worked  out  all  the  problems  of  his  life.  He  gave 
them  free  rein  to  gallop  through  his  mind,  to  mix 
and  mingle  until,  having  found  lodgment  there,  they 
were  ready  for  orderly,  systematic  treatment. 

And  as  in  his  former  ventures,  so  here,  they  gradu- 
ally began  to  converge  around  a  central  point.  Hith- 
erto it  had  always  been  himself  as  identified  with  his 
interests ;  this  time  it  was  himself  united  with  his  son. 

He  had  made  a  good  beginning,  he  knew.  Gentle 
held  all  the  cards,  and  yet  he  had  already  succeeded 
in  maneuvering  himself  into  the  position  of  greatest 
advantage.  He  was  nearer  his  boy  than  was  his 
adopted  father,  because  he  had  succeeded  in  arousing 
his  interest.  Phillip  would  be  thinking  of  him  and  his 
venture,  watching  its  development,  learning  new 
things,  hitherto  undreamed  of — from  him. 

Margaret  Lawrence  ?  She  was  as  yet  the  unknown 
factor  in  the  battle.  She  was  evidently  a  woman  of 
culture,  far  superior  socially  to  this  environment. 
Well,  if  she  was  to  be  his  daughter-in-law,  so  much 
the  better!  Of  course,  the  girl  was  a  social  worker 


MR.   JACKSON   STARTS   LIFE  ANEW    93 

of  some  kind,  a  reformer?  No  doubt  that  had  been 
the  attraction  between  her  and  Phillip  from  the  first. 

Jenny,  Haggleton  concluded,  he  liked.  She  might 
be  useful.  So  might  Joe,  who  amused  him.  He  would 
take  that  young  man  in  hand,  by  the  way;  it  might 
strengthen  Phillip's  interest. 

As  for  Moran,  his  theory,  evidently,  was  that  it 
is  the  duty  of  the  rich  to  look  after  the  poor,  without 
effort  on  their  own  part.  He  was  an  enemy,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  but — Haggleton  made  a 
contemptuous  movement  of  dismissal. 

He  must  teach  Phillip  to  love  him  and — he  must 
learn  to  do  his  loving  himself. 

Haggleton  slowly  dropped  off  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TOILERS   AND   WRECKS 

ON  being  awakened  by  the  alarm  clock  the  next 
morning,  Haggleton  found,  to  his  surprise, 
that  he  had  slept  quite  well.  The  close  air  of  the 
room  had  given  him  a  headache,  but  he  shook  this  off 
by  going  down  into  the  street  and  taking  a  brisk  walk 
around  Lung  Block.  He  had  hardly  known  that  it 
formed  part  of  his  enormous  real-estate  holdings. 

On  his  return  he  found  Jenny  ready  with  the  break- 
fast, and  Joe  and  Moran  already  devouring  theirs. 
It  was  bread  and  coffee,  nothing  more.  The  mil- 
lionaire asked  permission  to  toast  his  share  of  the 
meal,  which  Jenny  readily  granted,  getting  up  to  as- 
sist him  in  a  task  that  proved  unexpectedly  complicated 
in  the  absence  of  a  toaster.  The  young  woman  was 
again  carefully  dressed.  Joe  had  already  observed  the 
fact,  and  had  accused  her  of  having  designs  upon 
the  new  boarder's  heart  and  hand. 

After  breakfast  Moran  hurried  away  to  his  day 
of  toil  in  the  cellar  bake  shop.  Joe,  after  various 
adroit  but  vain  attempts  to  borrow  a  dollar  from 
Jenny  or  the  new  boarder,  drifted  out,  and  Haggle- 
ton,  after  repeated  offers  of  service  to  Jenny,  re- 
solved that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to 
take  a  look  around  and  familiarize  himself  with  the 

94 


TOILERS   AND   WRECKS  95 

condition  his  property  was  in.  Phillip,  who  was 
"  off  "  that  morning,  came  in,  driven  by  curiosity,  and 
offered  to  pilot  "  Mr.  Jackson "  through  that  un- 
familiar part  of  town.  The  offer  was  accepted  with 
alacrity. 

It  was  now  a  quarter  to  eight,  and  as  they  joined 
the  throng  of  hurrying  toilers  Phillip's  attitude  was 
that  of  a  man  facing  a  strange  and  great  responsi- 
bility, an  inconceivable  opportunity  that  he  must  make 
the  most  of;  but  Haggleton  was  simply  serene  and 
good  natured.  Only  one  thing  in  the  picture  seemed 
strange  to  him — that  he  was  walking  here  with  his 
son.  His  son!  That  was  the  single  fact  of  impor- 
tance in  all  this  curious  business.  This  was  his  son, 
this  strong,  serious-faced  young  fellow  beside  him, 
with  his  fine  head,  and  his  stride  of  self-reliance. 
Haggleton  studied  Phillip  carefully,  and  noted  with 
approval  the  square  jaw  and  the  keen,  discerning 
eyes.  He  was  nobody's  fool,  anyway,  this  boy. 

They  paused  at  the  Bowery  and  Canal  Street,  and 
watched  the  crush  of  men  and  women  fighting  their 
way  up  the  elevated  stairs,  and  packing  themselves 
into  the  cars.  Then  they  turned  east,  and  walked 
against  the  surging  river  of  humanity. 

"  You  call  these  the  poorest  people  in  New  York  ?  " 
asked  Haggleton. 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Then  New  York  makes  a  pretty  good  showing. 
Do  you  see  any  rags  or  misery?  Look  at  these  men. 
They  all  wear  leather  shoes,  don't  they?  In  Europe 
the  poorest  people  wear  wooden  shoes.  That's  some- 
thing, isn't  it?  And  they  all  wear  derby  hats,  and 


96  THE   BATTLE 

starched  shirts,  and  neckties,  and  watch  chains,  and 
overcoats  with  velvet  collars." 

"  You  can't  judge  by  appearances,"  objected  Phillip. 

"  Yes,  you  can,  too.  Look  at  these  women.  Would 
anybody  pick  them  out  as  very  poor?  Not  a  bit  of 
it!  They're  just  about  like  the  women  you  see  any- 
where. They've  got  feathers  in  their  hats,  and  gloves, 
and  bracelets,  and  leather  bags.  What  do  you  expect  ? 
They're  not  cold  or  hungry,  are  they  ?  No,  sir.  They're 
busy  and  contented,  men  and  women  both.  Why 
shouldn't  they  be?  They  have  work,  and  fair  wages, 
and " 

"  Oh,  no !  unfair  wages." 

"  Well,  they're  earning  a  living,  and  they  have  the 
same  chances  to  save  and  advance  that  anyone  has, 
the  same  chances  that — that  I  had." 

Phillip  shook  his  head.  "  You  only  see  these  who 
have  work  and  are  able  to  work ;  you  don't  see  those 
who  are  left  at  home.  You  don't  see  the  sick,  and 
the  old,  and  the  young.  You  don't  see  the  wrecks." 

"  No,  but  I  see  what  makes  the  wrecks,  or  some 
of  them,"  answered  Haggleton.  "  It's  extravagance. 
Most  of  these  men  smoke,  that's  bad;  and  a  lot  of 
them  go  into  saloons,  that's  worse.  And  look  at  the 
cheap  jewelry  on  the  women.  Why!  they  all  wear 
imitation  pearls !  And  see  the  girls  in  these  drug  stores 
wasting  money  on  chewing  gum  and  soda  water! 
Look  at  the  banners  across  the  streets  with  '  balls ' 
and  '  concerts  at  twenty-five  cents '  in  big  letters ! 
And  theater  signs  in  all  the  windows !  I  tell  you,  they 
waste  their  money." 

Phillip  thought  uneasily  of  a  promise  he  had  made 


TOILERS   AND  WRECKS  97 

to  Jenny  a  few  days  before,  to  accompany  her  to 
one  of  these  "balls." 

"  These  people  must  have  some  pleasure,"  he  said. 

"  Not  at  first.  They  must  cut  out  pleasures  at  first. 
I  did.  If  they  want  to  escape  from  these  tenements 
they've  got  to  save." 

Phillip's  face  darkened,  and  he  looked  at  Haggleton 
sharply  without  speaking.  They  had  turned  to  the 
left  at  Allen  Street  under  the  thundering  bridge  of  the 
elevated,  and  turned  again  at  Hester  Street,  and  were 
now  retracing  their  steps  toward  the  Bowery,  passing 
many  mean  streets  and  endless  rows  of  tenements. 

"  So  you  think  they  can  escape  by  saving  ? "  he 
said  quietly.  "  Do  you  know  that  New  York  has  miles 
and  miles  of  streets  like  these  with  a  million  human 
beings  herded  in  foul,  dark  rooms?  Can  they  all  es- 
cape by  saving  ?  " 

Haggleton  started  to  reply,  but  Phillip  went  on 
quickly,  his  voice  rising  with  intenser  feeling. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  one  man  escaped  by  saving  " ;  he 
pointed  down  Orchard  Street ;  "  he  lived  in  that  sec- 
ond house ;  he  was  a  poor  cap  maker,  and  he  shot  him- 
self because  he  was  out  of  work,  and  couldn't  bear 
to  see  his  wife  and  little  children  suffer.  He  knew 
they  would  get  the  insurance  money,  anyway.  That's 
how  he  saved.  And  two  years  ago,  over  there  on 
Eldridge  Street,"  he  pointed  again,  "  I  found  a  family 
of  poor  Jews  living  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  hallway, 
under  the  stairs.  There  was  no  window,  no  door,  it 
wasn't  a  room  at  all;  only  a  narrow,  slanting  space 
roughry  boarded  off,  and  the  landlord  made  them  pay 
eight  dollars  a  month  for  it.  There  the  mother  had 


98  THE   BATTLE 

a  baby.  That's  how  they  saved.  And  back  in  Allen 
Street  you  can  find  whole  families  to-day  living  in 
a  single  room,  dark  and  damp,  and  swarming  with 
vermin,  and  sleeping  five  or  six  in  a  bed.  That's 
how  they  save." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Haggleton  coolly.  "  If  people 
are  once  caught  in  the  mire  there's  no  telling  how 
deep  they'll  sink.  But  you  mustn't  forget  that  things 
are  improving.  These  tenements  are  nothing  like  as 
bad  as  they  were  forty  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  " 

"  But  I  know.  What  do  you  think  they  did  with 
the  garbage  forty  years  ago  ?  Threw  it  into  the  streets 
for  the  pigs  to  eat.  Yes,  sir.  Pigs  were  the  public 
scavengers;  they  used  to  run  all  around  here,  and 
this  whole  region  was  so  filthy  that — well,  it  was 
cleaned  out  by  cholera  and  yellow  fever  more  than 
once — you  knew  that,  didn't  you  ?  And  smallpox  was 
the  regular  thing.  Why,  the  health  wardens  used  to 
stand  on  the  sidewalk  and  shout  to  people  upstairs 
who  had  it  to  put  camphor  in  their  clothes  and  burn 
some  in  the  stove.  That's  how  they  fought  disease !  " 

"Who  told  you  that?"  questioned  Phillip. 

"  Nobody  told  me.  I  saw  it.  I  lived  here,"  an- 
swered Haggleton.  "  And  there  were  slaughter-houses 
everywhere ;  and  fat-boilers ;  and  such  vile  tenements 
that — they're  all  gone  now,  '  Bone  Alley,'  and  '  Kero- 
sene Row,'  and  the  '  Big  Flat,'  in  Mott  Street,  and 
'  Bandits'  Roost,'  but  I  tell  you  it  was  worth  a  man's 
life  to  go  past  them  at  night  Now  you  can  go  any- 
where." 

Phillip  smiled. 


TOILERS   AND   WRECKS  99 

"  I'll  show  you  a  few  places  where  you  won't  enjoy 
yourself  at  night.  Still,  I  admit,  we've  improved  in 
some  things,  but  we've  gone  back  in  others;  there 
may  not  be  as  many  pigs  and  murderers  about,  but 
there's  a  lot  more  consumption  and  overcrowding. 
Do  you  see  that  little  block  just  ahead?  It's  only 
seventy-five  feet  by  two  hundred.  How  many  people 
do  you  suppose  live  in  it?  Guess." 

"  Seventy-five  feet  by  two  hundred,"  reflected  Hag- 
gleton,  studying  the  front  of  the  block  with  its  swarms 
of  children.  "  Let's  see — a  thousand  ?  " 

"  Two  thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty-nine  by  ac- 
tual count,  and  that  was  five  years  ago — the  popula- 
tion of  a  good-sized  town  in  the  space  of  one  of  your 
stables !  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Haggleton.  "  How  many 
would  that  give  to  a  house  ?  " 

"  From  a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty.  We're 
passing  through  the  most  densely  populated  region  in 
the  world  and — you  own  about  half  of  it." 

"Not  that  block?" 

"  No,  but  you  own  enough  others.  I'll  show  you 
some  presently." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  Haggleton  observing 
Phillip  with  an  interest  that  was  not  altogether  free 
from  uneasiness.  Yes,  this  boy  had  a  will  of  his 
own,  and  strong  convictions  that  might  prove  trouble- 
some. 

"  See  here,"  he  asked  good  naturedly,  "  what's  your 
idea  about  these  tenements  ?  " 

"  They're  a  disgrace  to  the  city,"  answered  Phillip 
promptly,  "  and  a  danger  to  the  city." 


ioo  THE   BATTLE 

"A  danger?" 

"  Certainly.  Isn't  disease  a  danger  ?  Aren't  they 
full  of  disease?  Why,  they  kill  thousands  of  children 
every  year,  children  that  would  live  if  conditions  were 
better.  Isn't  that  a  disgrace  ?  " 

"  It's  for  the  parents  to  protect  their  children." 

"  How  ?  The  parents  are  poor  and  helpless.  Can 
they  bring  sunshine  into  rooms  that  open  on  black  air 
shafts?  Can  they  make  playgrounds  out  of  filthy 
alleys?" 

"  They  can  leave  these  tenements,  they  can  get 
out  of  New  York." 

"  Yes,  by  saving.  You  said  that  before ;  but  it's 
nonsense.  An  exceptional  man  might  do  it  with  excep- 
tional luck,  but  we're  talking  about  the  average  poor 
man  with  the  average  poor  family,  and  there's  no 
chance  at  all  for  them.  They  never  can  save  enough ; 
their  wages  don't  permit  it,  and,  if  they  do  put  a  little 
aside,  it's  wiped  out  by  the  first  sickness." 

"  They  mustn't  get  sick." 

Phillip  stared. 

"  Mustn't  get  sick?  How  can  they  help  it  with  sick- 
ness all  around  them  ?  " 

"  When  I  lived  here  /  never  got  sick,"  insisted  Hag- 
gleton.  "  You  don't  get  sick.  These  tenement  con- 
ditions may  be  bad,  but  I  say  any  man  worth  shucks 
can  stand  'em ;  yes,  and  win  out !  " 

"But  the  weak?" 

Haggleton  stopped  and  laid  a  kindly  hand  on 
Phillip's  shoulder. 

"  My  boy,  you  think  too  much  about  the  weak.  Think 
about  the  strong.  Don't  you  see  that  this  tenement 


TOILERS   AND   WRECKS  101 

struggle  makes  men  stronger?  You  know  it  does. 
Would  you  be  the  man  you  are  if  you'd  been  coddled 
in  luxury,  with  everything  made  easy  ?  I  tell  you  half 
the  big  fellows  in  this  country  owe  their  success  to 
being  born  poor.  So  don't  be  too  hard  on  poverty. 
Don't  be  too  sure  it's  a  danger  to  the  city.  It  may  be 
a  blessing.  Look  at  our  best  citizens,  and  see  where 
they  come  from.  I  tell  you,  young  man,  poverty's 
about  the  finest  school  we've  got."  He  paused,  and 
then  added  impressively :  "  I'm  one  of  the  graduates." 

"  I  know,"  said  Phillip,  "  but  there  are  other  gradu- 
ates, and — speaking  of  wrecks — "  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  "  That  reminds  me,  I  must  tele- 
phone." He  turned  into  a  drug  store  and  called  up 
the  Atlantic  Wrecking  Company.  "  Too  bad !  "  he  ex- 
claimed after  a  brief  communication ;  "  there's  a  grain 
boat  sunk  in  the  East  River  off  Grand  Street;  I've 
got  to  see  about  it." 

Haggleton  was  greatly  interested  in  this,  and  anx- 
ious to  go  along.  They  could  continue  their  tenement 
tour  in  the  afternoon.  Phillip  shook  his  head.  It  was 
an  easy  enough  job;  only  a  bit  of  patching;  but  the 
tide  was  strong,  and  there  was  barely  half  an  hour  at 
slack  water  when  a  man  could  go  down.  He  might  not 
be  through  before  dark.  Never  mind ;  Haggleton  would 
wait;  he  was  glad  of  a  chance  to  see  the  wreckers  at 
their  work. 

Phillip  laughed. 

"  All  right.  This  afternoon  I'll  show  you  how  we 
go  after  wrecks  in  the  river.  And  to-night  we'll  tackle 
some  of  the  wrecks  on  land." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  after  seven  that  evening 


102  THE   BATTLE 

before  Phillip  had  the  grain  boat  securely  patched  and 
the  chain  under  her  ready  for  lifting.  He  had  to  go 
down  twice;  for  the  first  time,  just  as  everything  was 
ready,  a  foolish  tugboat  bumped  into  them  and  fouled 
the  chain,  leaving  the  work  to  be  done  over  again; 
which  meant  five  hours  waiting  for  the  tide. 

So  Haggleton  got  a  glimpse  of  life  on  the  big  pon- 
toons, and  several  thrills  of  pleasure  as  he  noted 
Phillip's  quick  resourcefulness;  and  a  pang  of  appre- 
hension as  he  watched  him  swing  off  the  ladder  in  his 
ugly  suit  and  disappear  beneath  the  bubbling  river. 

As  there  was  a  cold  rain  falling,  they  spent  the 
waiting  hours  in  the  cozy  cabin  of  the  Dunderberg,  and 
the  crew  told  stories  about  perils  of  the  deep.  Flagg 
related  an  experience  with  a  conger  eel.  Henderson 
told  of  a  dock-department  diver  who  was  blown  to 
death  under  forty  feet  of  water,  when  twenty-eight 
pounds  of  dynamite  he  was  putting  in  for  blasting 
went  off  too  soon.  Williams  recalled  how  he  fainted 
away  once,  a  hundred  and  five  feet  down,  and  how 
another  time  he  let  the  water  into  his  suit  by  pulling 
out  a  helmet  lug  on  a  silly  wager.  Which  reminded 
Phillip  of  the  time  his  gasket  was  cut  through  by  the 
slam  of  an  iron  ladder,  and  the  air  went  out  "  hooo," 
and  it  was  only  quick  work  with  the  life  line  that  saved 
him.  Haggleton  listened  and  marveled.  So  this  was 
his  son,  this  master  diver! 

They  had  supper  with  the  crew,  and  then  started 
back  for  New  York,  taking  the  ferry  to  Twenty-third 
Street,  where  there  was  something  Phillip  wanted  to 
show  Haggleton. 

"  We'll  look  in  here  first,"  he  said,  and  stopped  be- 


TOILERS   AND  WRECKS 

fore  a  large  building  on  First  Avenue.  "  This  is  the 
Municipal  Lodging  House.  They  take  in  two  or  three 
hundred  homeless  men  every  night." 

"  How  many  homeless  men  are  there  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  Twenty  thousand  or  so." 

"  Twenty  thousand  homeless  men !  "  repeated  Hag- 
gleton.  "  And  what  do  the  others  do,  those  who  can't 
stay  here  ?  " 

"  About  three  thousand  walk  the  streets,"  replied 
Phillip. 

"  Not  on  cold  nights  like  this !  " 

"  On  cold  nights  and  on  hot  nights.  They  huddle  in 
dark  corners  and  alleyways  out  of  the  wind.  They 
crouch  over  gratings  above  engine  rooms  and  get  the 
warm  air.  They  stand  in  the  midnight  bread  lines  and 
then  go  back  to  their  holes.  You'll  see  them  shuffling 
along  through  the  snow  with  their  feet  tied  up  in 
rags." 

"  There  are  three  thousand  like  that  in  New  York?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  the  rest?" 

"  The  rest  pay  ten  or  fifteen  cents  in  cheap  lodging 
houses.  You'll  see." 

"  What  do  they  pay  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  but  the  same  man  may  not  come  more 
than  three  times  in  a  month.  If  he  does,  he  goes  to  the 
stone  pile.  So  they're  careful.  Come  in." 

The  office  attendants  nodded  pleasantly  to  Phillip 
and  were  evidently  glad  to  have  him  show  his  friend 
about.  And,  first,  they  watched  the  line  of  stolid,  un- 
kempt men  as  they  gave  the  facts  about  themselves 
and  their  destitution.  Not  one  had  so  much  as  a  half 


104  THE   BATTLE 

dollar  in  the  world,  nor  any  work,  nor  very  much  hope, 
apparently.  Most  of  them  were  in  the  prime  of  life, 
many  of  them  young  men. 

"  They  seem  sober,"  whispered  Haggleton. 

"  They  don't  come  here  when  they're  drunk,"  replied 
Phillip.  "  They  know  they'll  get  sent  up  if  they  do." 

Downstairs  they  saw  these  men  stripped  of  their 
clothes  (some  of  them  peeled  off  two  or  three  sets  of 
garments — their  whole  wardrobe)  and  then  thoroughly 
scrubbed  under  a  hot  shower  bath.  One  man's  legs 
were  blotched  with  sores  and  bruises — from  low  vi- 
tality, the  doctor  said — and  one  had  a  deeply  ulcerated 
heel ;  he  had  literally  been  walking  on  his  uppers. 

Overhead  they  saw  the  dormitories,  long  rooms 
ranged  with  iron  cots,  double  deckers,  a  man  above 
and  a  man  below,  and  watched  the  now  cleansed 
vagabonds,  their  hunger  stayed  with  bread  and  coffee, 
tumble  into  these  and  drop  off  to  slumber,  sleeping 
between  clean  sheets  and  in  clean  nightgowns  for  the 
first  time  in  many  days. 

"  Well,"  said  Haggleton,  when  they  had  finished 
their  inspection,  "  that's  all  right  far  as  it  goes,  but — 
these  men  are  getting  something  for  nothing — and  how 
much  good  does  it  do  ?  " 

"It's  clean,  anyway,"  answered  Phillip.  " Now  come 
in  here."  He  led  the  way  into  another  lodging  house 
in  the  opposite  block.  "  This  place  accommodates 
about  four  hundred,  and  the  men  pay  from  fifteen  to 
twenty-five  cents  a  night.  There's  no  compulsory  bath, 
and  as  for  cleanliness — look !  " 

They  had  reached  one  of  the  dormitories,  and 
Phillip  pointed  out  that  each  cot  had  a  small  locker 


TOILERS   AND   WRECKS 


105 


for  the  men's  clothes,  which  in  the  other  place  were 
fumigated,  but  here  were  simply  hung  in  these  rick- 
ety closets,  where  abundant  cracks  encouraged  the 
free  circulation  of  vermin. 

"  They  get  no  nightgowns,"  continued  Phillip,  "  and 
the  sheets  are  changed  only  once  or  twice  a  week. 
Many  of  the  men  have  loathsome  diseases ;  many  have 
consumption;  and  there's  no  doubt  consumption  and 
other  diseases  can  be  transmitted  from  man  to  man  by 
the  contamination  of  sheets." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Haggleton.  "  How  many  of 
these  lodging  houses  are  there  ?  " 

"  About  a  hundred  and  forty,  and  you've  seen  the 
best.  The  others  are  so  filthy  that — well,  I  asked  an 
attendant  once  how  often  they  washed  the  towels,  and 
he  said  with  a  grin :  '  Wash  'em  ?  We  never  wash 
'em ;  we  use  'em  until  they  break.' " 

They  took  the  elevated  down  to  Grand  Street  and 
spent  an  hour  visiting  more  of  these  sinister  asylums 
on  the  Bowery  where  bunks  are  offered  to  human 
wrecks  at  twenty  or  fifteen  or  ten  cents  a  night  or 
less,  vile  places,  all  of  them,  reeking  with  foulness  and 
disease ;  centers  of  contamination  for  young  men,  hot- 
beds of  vice  and  crime.  In  one  hideous  resort  on  Mul- 
berry Street  where  the  charge  was  seven  cents,  they 
found  men  ranged  along  in  hammocks,  with  neither 
sheets  nor  covers,  and  dozens  sleeping  on  the  bare 
floor. 

"  Pretty  bad,"  muttered  Haggleton,  "  but,  after  all, 
it's  their  own  fault ;  they  won't  work." 

"  Some  of  them  can't  work." 

"  But  a  good  many  won't." 


106  THE   BATTLE 

"  That's  true.  They  say  things  are  all  unfair  and  a 
man's  a  fool  to  work  when  he  can  beat  the  game  by 
lying  or  begging  or  stealing." 

"You  admit  that?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  what's  your  idea  in  showing  me  all  this  ?  " 

"  It's  a  problem  for  you  to  solve.  That's  what  you're 
down  here  for,  to  see  things  and  then  say  what  ought 
to  be  done.  We  have  ideas,  but  you'll  have  better  ones 
before  you  get  through." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Because  you're  a  great  man  with  a  great  brain. 
You  know  how  to  organize,  you  hate  waste;  well,  or- 
ganize these  wasted  lives;  find  some  place  for  them, 
some  use,  say  a  farm — school,  or — or  a  labor  bureau 
or  anything.  It's  up  to  you." 

Haggleton  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  not  responsible  for  these  lodging  houses." 

"  You  are  responsible,"  flashed  Phillip,  "  because  it's 
men  like  you  who  own  them;  it's  men  like  you  who 
take  the  dimes  and  pennies  of  these  poor  devils — talk 
about  tainted  money! — a  million  dollars  in  lodging- 
house  money  paid  every  year  in  New  York  City  by 
your  fellow-graduates  in  poverty." 

"  No,  no,"  objected  Haggleton,  "  it's  not  poverty 
that  brought  them  where  they  are;  it's  drink  and 
laziness  and " 

"  And  ignorance  and  weakness,"  added  Phillip. 

"  That  makes  four  causes." 

"  Four  effects." 

"  I  said  '  causes,'  "  insisted  the  other. 

Phillip  paused  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  met  Haggle- 


TOILERS   AND   WRECKS 


107 


ton's  in  steady  defiance.  Then  he  said  slowly :  "  No, 
effects.  These  men  are  products  of  conditions.  It's 
years  of  bad  air  in  your  tenements  and  of  underfeed- 
ing at  your  wages  that  make  them  crave  drink.  It's  a 
childhood  wasted  in  brutalizing  labor  that  has  weak- 
ened their  bodies  and  dulled  their  minds.  It's  a  man- 
hood gone  in  hopeless  struggle  that  has  left  them  bro- 
ken and  disheartened.  There  are  twenty  thousand  of 
them  in  New  York,  Mr.  Haggleton,  who  have  lost 
their  grip,  who  are  bums,  wrecks,  lodging-house  loaf- 
ers; but  don't  forget  that  they  are  victims  of  a  cruel 
order  which  for  the  vast  majority  gives  poverty  as  the 
only  reward  of  toil." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Haggleton. 


CHAPTER   IX 

MORE   WRECKS 

THE  next  morning  Moran  grudgingly  announced 
that  he  would  probably  be  able  to  get  Jackson 
a  temporary  job  in  the  bakeshop  within  the  next  few 
days.  The  helper  was  still  sick;  no  doubt  it  would 
turn  out  to  be  typhoid  in  the  end.  It  usually  did  in 
that  damp,  unventilated  cellar,  with  its  disgraceful 
plumbing.  Then  he  hurried  away,  as  on  the  previous 
day,  unbrushed,  unkempt. 

Gentle,  to  whom  Phillip  had  told  the  results  of  Hag- 
gleton's  first  day  among  the  toilers  and  the  wrecks, 
arrived  soon  after,  accompanied  by  the  young  diver. 
Both  were  now  intensely  interested  in  the  millionaire's 
venture  and  its  ultimate  results,  Gentle's  concern  be- 
ing, of  course,  complicated  by  considerations  of  whose 
very  existence  Phillip  knew  nothing.  This  morning 
Gentle  was  off  duty,  while  Phillip  had  another  diving 
job  to  attend  to;  so  it  was  arranged  that  Haggleton 
should  spend  the  morning  with  Gentle  and  Joe  organ- 
izing the  flat.  Phillip  went  away,  first  arranging  with 
Haggleton  to  meet  him  at  Chatham  Square  at  a  quar- 
ter past  twelve.  He  would  be  free  by  that  time,  and 
they  must  not  waste  the  afternoon. 

Nor  was  the  morning  wasted.  Gentle  put  up  shelves  ; 
Haggleton  sorted  out  rubbish;  Joe,  familiar  with  the 

1 08 


MORE   WRECKS 


109 


disorder  of  the  Moran  household,  made  himself  gen- 
erally useful.  Gentle  quietly  noticed  that  Moran's  lazy 
son-in-law  was  already  under  the  driving  influence  of 
the  millionaire.  Jenny,  while  working  at  the  plaster 
figures,  helped  with  suggestions  and  little  touches.  The 
flat  was  beginning  to  take  on  a  homelike  air,  and, 
thank  Heaven,  they  had  plenty  of  sunshine. 

The  two  elderly  men  took  real  pleasure  in  their 
planning  and  work  together.  The  careers  of  both,  so 
utterly  dissimilar,  yet  had  this  in  common,  that  they 
had  taught  them  to  be  systematic ;  to  think  quickly  and 
to  act  more  quickly  still.  They  began  to  feel  drawn 
toward  each  other;  the  secret  warfare  upon  which 
they  had  just  entered  assumed  the  softer  aspect  of  a 
not  altogether  unfriendly  rivalry. 

At  twelve  o'clock  Haggleton  left  the  flat  to  keep  his 
appointment.  He  was  in  excellent  spirits. 

"  Ah,"  exclaimed  Phillip  as  they  met,  "  so  you 
came  ?  " 

"  Did  you  think  I'd  run  away  ?  "  laughed  Haggleton. 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  don't,"  replied  Phillip  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

"  I  don't  want  to  run  away,"  answered  Haggleton. 
"  I've  started  out  to  do  a  certain  thing  and  I'm  going 
to  do  it." 

Phillip  shot  a  glance  of  admiration  at  him.  "  You're 
game,  all  right.  Well,  let's  eat.  In  here.  Keep  your 
hat  on." 

They  entered  a  Bowery  restaurant  near  Chatham 
Square,  a  battered  place  seen  through  two  dusty  win- 
dows, the  one  spread  with  cakes  and  pies,  the  other 
with  lengths  of  raw,  red  sausage.  At  long  tables  were 


IIO  THE   BATTLE 

silent,  shifty-eyed  men  who  seemed  to  sit  as  far  apart 
as  possible.  And  they  all  kept  their  hats  on  and  their 
coat  collars  turned  up ;  while  hard-faced  waiters  moved 
among  them  bawling  out  orders :  "  Coming — stew." 
"  Bowl  of  oats — draw  one."  "  Sinkers  and — draw 
one." 

"  What's  that—'  draw  one  '  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Coffee,"  answered  Phillip,  "  out  of  those  big  urns." 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  silent  men  would  rise 
and  carefully  pick  out  a  cake  at  the  counter.  Then  he 
would  slouch  back  to  his  seat  and  eat  the  cake. 

"  More  wrecks,  I  suppose  ?  "  commented  Haggleton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phillip. 

They  stayed  in  the  place  about  ten  minutes  and  took 
apple  pie  and  coffee.  Phillip  paid  for  it. 

"  Not  bad,  that  pie,"  declared  Haggleton  as  they 
came  out.  "  Now  I'm  ready  for  anything  you  can 
show  me,  the  worst  you  can  show  me." 

Phillip's  face  was  set.  This  man  wanted  to  see  pov- 
erty and  misery.  Very  well,  he  should  be  accommo- 
dated. 

"  I  know  an  old  lady  on  Roosevelt  Street,"  he  said, 
"  who  is  dying  of  consumption.  We'll  go  there  first." 

On  the  way  he  spoke  briefly  of  the  case.  The  old 
lady  had  no  one  in  the  world  to  care  for  her  but  a  little 
granddaughter  eight  years  old.  The  child  did  what 
she  could  mornings  and  evenings,  but  between  times 
she  went  to  school ;  so  the  sick  woman  was  absolutely 
alone  for  hours  every  day.  And  she  was  so  feeble 
she  could  scarcely  lift  herself  from  the  bed. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  Phillip,  and  turning  into  a 
dark  hallway  with  greasy  green  walls,  they  climbed 


MORE   WRECKS  m 

four  flights  of  stairs  to  a  tiny  room  at  the  back.  Every- 
thing here  was  scrupulously  clean,  but  the  floor  was 
bare  of  covering,  and  the  only  furniture  was  a  cot  bed, 
two  chairs,  and  a  little  stove.  There  was  one  window 
in  the  room,  and  the  walls  were  painted  red. 

The  dying  woman  lay  propped  against  a  pillow,  and 
her  thin  face  brightened  as  she  saw  Phillip.  Yes,  she 
was  feeling  better.  A  lady  had  been  very  kind  and 
sent  in  chicken  broth.  No,  she  wasn't  lonely,  and,  any- 
way, Ella  mustn't  miss  her  school.  Ella  was  a  good 
child,  and  did  everything  for  her.  Oh,  yes,  they  were 
comfortable  enough.  Ella  didn't  mind  sleeping  on  a 
blanket — over  there  in  the  corner.  The  rent?  Why, 
four  dollars  a  month.  It  was  a  nice  room,  only  she 
wished  the  sun  could  shine  in.  She  loved  the  sun. 
There  were  a  few  weeks  in  June  when  the  sun  did 
shine  in,  but  June  was  a  long  way  off.  She  closed  her 
eyes  wearily  and  lay  still. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Phillip  when  they  reached  the  street. 

"  There's  nothing  to  say,"  replied  Haggleton.  "  She's 
going  to  die.  We're  all  going  to  die.  What  can  you 
do  about  it  ?  " 

"  But  that  child — only  eight  years  old  ?  " 

"  It's  life,"  said  Haggleton. 

Phillip  shook  his  head. 

"  I'll  show  you  another  case,"  he  muttered,  and  led 
the  way  to  a  house  in  Cherry  Street  where  the  crape 
was  hanging.  And  he  spoke  tenderly  of  the  dead  girl 
within,  whom  he  had  known  and  befriended,  who  had 
been  so  brave  and  unselfish,  and  had  literally  given 
her  life  at  her  sewing  machine  for  her  brothers  and 
sisters. 


U2  THE   BATTLE 

At  the  door  they  were  met  by  a  coarse-featured  man 
whose  eyes  were  red  and  swollen.  He  said  he  was 
her — Rosalie's — brother,  a  truck  driver  from  Brook- 
lyn. He  had  not  seen  much  of  his  family  in  years; 
the  old  man  got  sore  on  him  for  boozing,  so  he  cut 
loose.  But  he  always  thought  a  lot  of  Rosalie,  and  this 
thing  hit  him  hard,  and — well,  she  was  gone,  and — 
and —  He  was  crying  now,  and  his  breath  smelled  of 
whisky. 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Phillip. 

"  In  there,"  he  pointed. 

Phillip  went  into  the  front  room  and  Haggleton  fol- 
lowed him.  Around  the  walls  were  chairs,  and  on  one 
of  them  a  florid-faced  man  was  sleeping  heavily. 

"  He's  tired,"  explained  the  brother.  "  We  had  the 
wake  last  night." 

"Where  are  the  children?" 

"  At  school.    Do  you — do  you  want  to  look  at  her  ?  " 

Very  reverently  Phillip  stepped  forward  for  a  last 
sight  of  Rosalie.  Haggleton  stood  beside  him,  and 
noticed  that  the  coffin  was  of  polished  wood  with  sil- 
ver handles.  Also,  that  the  young  girl  had  been 
dressed  in  a  white-satin  gown. 

When  they  went  back  to  the  kitchen  Haggleton 
asked  how  they  had  been  able  to  pay  for  these  things. 
The  brother's  face  brightened :  this  was  his  one  conso- 
lation for  years  of  neglect — they  had  given  Rosalie  a 
grand  funeral.  She  had  always  longed  for  a  white- 
satin  dress,  but  she  never  could  have  one,  and  now — 
anyway — she — she  had  it.  And  the  coffin — did  they 
notice  that?  It  was  the  very  finest,  with  real  silver 
handles.  It  cost  sixty  dollars,  and  the  dress  cost  fifty 


MORE   WRECKS  U3 

dollars.  And  the  hearse  would  be  elegant  with  four 
two-horse  carriages. 

Finally,  after  more  questions,  Haggleton  found  that 
they  had  used  the  insurance  money  for  these  expenses. 
There  were  three  hundred  dollars  on  Rosalie's  life  and 
they  were  spending  most  of  it.  That  was  the  least  they 
could  do,  the  brother  thought. 

"  You  see  how  these  people  act,"  began  Haggleton  as 
they  left  the  house.  "  Here  they  had  three  hundred 
dollars,  and  now  the  children  will " 

"  They  did  it  out  of  love,"  interrupted  Phillip,  and 
he  murmured  under  his  breath :  "  Poor  little  Rosalie !  " 

The  next  case  was  farther  down  the  street — an  Irish 
longshoreman  about  thirty-five  who  also  was  nearing 
his  end — consumption  and  cancer  of  the  throat.  He 
had  been  in  the  hospital  but  had  come  home  for  the 
last  days.  He  wanted  to  be  near  the  wife  and  the  kid. 
There  they  were,  the  wife  sitting  by  the  stove,  and 
the  kid,  a  little  fellow  of  five  with  big,  frightened 
eyes,  playing  about,  barefoot,  on  the  cold  floor.  His 
toy  was  an  old  bottle  in  which  he  was  rattling  some 
rusty  nails. 

The  sick  man  lay  in  a  foul  back  room  where  there 
was  no  window.  A  kerosene  lamp  smoking  on  a  table 
threw  a  dim  light  on  his  wasted  face  and  shrunken 
body.  His  wife  had  lifted  his  head  by  putting  a  chair 
under  the  pillow,  for  he  coughed  constantly.  He  knew 
that  he  was  dying,  but  he  was  happy  to  be  home  again 
near  the  wife  and  the  kid.  He  was  in  no  pain. 

Haggleton  beckoned  the  woman  into  the  front  room 
and  questioned  her.  Had  her  husband  been  a  drinking 
man?  No,  it  was  exposure  to  bad  weather  that  had 


II4  THE   BATTLE 

caused  his  sickness.  Why  had  he  not  got  other  work  ? 
That  was  the  only  work  he  knew,  and  he  couldn't  take 
chances  with  a  family  to  support.  Did  she  work  her- 
self? Yes,  she  did  cleaning. 

As  they  came  away  Haggleton  discussed  this  case. 
What  could  you  expect?  This  man  might  have  saved 
his  money  while  he  had  been  strong  and  healthy,  and 
changed  his  work.  Besides,  there  must  have  been  some 
taint  in  him ;  a  sound  man  doesn't  get  cancer  and  con- 
sumption. He  didn't;  Phillip  didn't;  this  Irishman 
was  evidently  unsound. 

"  Haven't  you  any  pity  for  an  unsound  man  ?  "  pro- 
tested Phillip. 

"  What's  the  use  of  pity  ?  An  unsound  man  is  un- 
sound. He  can't  resist.  He's  bound  to  perish,  and  it's 
better  he  should.  The  only  way  to  improve  the  race 
it  to  prune  away  the  weak  and  the  unworthy.  That's 
what  poverty  does." 

"  Suppose  a  man  is  strong  of  body  but  not  intel- 
ligent?" 

"  Then  he's  unworthy." 

"  And  he  ought  to  perish  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"And  the  weak  ought  to  perish — you  really  mean 
that?" 

"  Certainly,  whether  they're  weak  in  body  or  mind." 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  Phillip,  "  that's  the  most 
brutal  talk  I  ever  heard !  " 

"  Brutal,  yes,  but — think  it  over,  young  man,  think 
it  over.  I  say  the  weak  and  the  unworthy  ought  to 
perish.  It's  true  when  you  grow  fruits  and  flowers, 
isn't  it?  It's  true  when  you  breed  animals,  isn't  it? 


MORE   WRECKS  115 

Then  why  isn't  it  true  if  you  want  to  build  up  a  race 
of  men?" 

"  Because  " — Phillip  hesitated — "  because  the  great- 
est authority  in  the  world  is  against  you." 

"  What  authority  is  that?  " 

Phillip  looked  him  gravely  in  the  eyes.  "  The  au- 
thority that  says :  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto 
me.' " 

"  H'm !  "  grunted  Haggleton,  and  fell  into  silence. 

So  they  walked  on  until  Phillip  spoke  again :  "  Now, 
if  you  like,  we'll  go  in  here." 

They  had  come  to  a  block  of  better-looking  tene- 
ments and  made  their  way  to  a  four-room  flat  with 
signs  of  relative  prosperity  if  not  of  cleanliness. 
This  was  the  home  of  a  strong  Italian  woman  who 
supported  her  family  by  taking  in  washing.  The  fam- 
ily consisted  of  seven  boys,  all  under  eight,  and  in- 
cluded two  sets  of  twins. 

"  Bimeby  nodder  one,"  volunteered  the  mother 
smiling. 

Most  of  the  boys  were  playing  about  the  room ;  sev- 
eral had  sore  eyes,  and  all  were  barefoot. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  shoes  on  them  ?  "  asked  Hag- 
gleton. 

"  No  got,"  grinned  the  mother,  and  explained  that 
her  husband  had  temporarily  abandoned  her.  So  she 
had  taken  two  lady  boarders  in  the  back  room.  One 
of  them  paid  her  two  dollars  a  month,  and  the  other, 
being  poor  and  sick,  helped  with  the  ironing. 

The  two  lady  boarders  presently  appeared,  one 
showing  a  hand  bulkily  bandaged,  and  the  other  a 


u6  THE   BATTLE 

very  queer  face.  It  was  the  girl  with  the  bandaged 
hand  who  had  stirred  Phillip's  interest.  She  was  a 
"  dipper "  at  the  gold-dust  factory  for  which  Jenny 
Moran  worked,  and  had  contracted  tuberculosis  of  the 
joints.  This  had  shown  itself  in  her  hand,  which  had 
swollen  to  double  its  size  and  had  just  been  operated 
upon  at  the  hospital.  She  unwrapped  the  cloth,  and 
exposed  a  sickly,  whitish  mass  with  deep  red  cuts 
where  the  knife  had  gone.  The  hand  looked  dead  and 
useless. 

Phillip  whispered  to  Haggleton  that  the  doctor  had 
told  him  the  disease  would  probably  spread  through 
the  girl's  body  and  ultimately  kill  her.  It  was  clearly 
a  life  put  in  jeopardy  by  a  dangerous  trade.  All  these 
gold-dust  girls  were  ailing,  their  lungs  were  full  of 
metallic  dust,  and  many  of  them  would  contract  tuber- 
culosis. 

Haggleton  took  this  very  calmly,  but  thought  it  an 
outrage  that  a  girl  in  such  a  state  should  help  with  the 
washing.  Here  was  a  basket  of  clothes  for  some  fam- 
ily uptown.  Did  she  handle  these  clothes?  Yes,  cer- 
tainly. With  those  soiled  bandages  ?  Well,  sometimes 
she  took  the  bandages  off.  Good  Lord,  that  was 
worse !  The  family  uptown  might  be  infected.  Phillip 
looked  reproachfully  at  Haggleton,  and  assured  him 
that  if  he  wished  to  consider  the  subject  of  infection 
he  would  show  him  something  much  worthier  of  his 
indignation.  He  would  show  him  at  once. 

But  Haggleton's  curiosity  was  not  yet  satisfied.  He 
wanted  to  know  what  was  the  matter  with  the  other 
lady  boarder's  face.  And,  after  some  questioning,  he 
discovered  that  she  was  the  victim  of  a  beauty  doctor. 


MORE   WRECKS 


117 


It  seemed  incredible  that  the  most  hardened  charlatan 
could  ever  have  encouraged  this  withered  spinster's 
aspirations  to  comeliness.  But  so  it  was,  and,  in  spite 
of  her  poverty,  she  had  somehow  raised  ninety  dollars 
and  given  it  to  this  wretch — sixty  for  removing  a  deep 
frown  line  in  her  forehead,  and  thirty  for  filling  in  a 
wrinkle.  And  the  result  was  that  the  paraffin  injected 
in  the  forehead  had  run  together  in  a  lump,  so  that  she 
seemed  to  have  a  perpetual  angry  boil  between  her 
eyes,  while  the  paraffin  for  the  wrinkle  had  spread 
under  her  cheek,  making  it  now  red,  now  purple,  ac- 
cording to  the  weather.  She  had  become  a  living 
barometer. 

"  And  you  paid  him  ninety  dollars  for  this  ?  "  asked 
Haggleton. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  sadly. 

"  Why  didn't  you  have  him  take  the  stuff  out?  " 

"  I  asked  him  to,  but  he  said  it  would  cost  twenty- 
five  dollars  more  to  take  it  out,  and  I  didn't  have  the 
money." 

"  Now,  then,"  triumphed  Haggleton  on  the  floor  be- 
low, "  was  I  right  in  saying  that  the  poor  are  extrava- 
gant? Ninety  dollars  for  a  beauty  doctor  when  she 
had  no  shoes !  " 

"  She  was  foolish,"  admitted  Phillip,  "  but  there  are 
worse  things  than  that.  I  promised  to  show  you  some- 
thing worthy  of  your  indignation.  Now  I'll  do  it." 

He  turned  into  a  forbidding  street  that  stretched  like 
a  sinister  canyon  between  two  rows  of  evil-looking 
tenements,  their  fire  escapes  hung  with  bedraggled 
underclothing. 

"  Do  you  know  what  street  this  is  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 


n8  THE   BATTLE 

"  No." 

"  It's  the  other  end  of  Market  Street.  George 
Washington  lived  around  that  corner  once  when  he 
was  President.  Do  you  know  who  owns  this  block  ?  " 

"  Why — er — yes,  of  course ;  /  own  it." 

"  And  it's  one  of  the  possessions  you  needn't  be 
proud  of.  There's  not  a  house  here,  Mr.  Haggleton, 
nor  a  room,  nor  a  corner  that  isn't  poisoned  with  con- 
sumption germs." 

Phillip  entered  the  first  tenement  at  hand,  and  going 
quickly  up  one  flight,  he  stopped  at  two  narrow  doors 
that  stood  side  by  side  halfway  down  the  hall.  He 
opened  these  doors  and  looked  in.  Then  he  went  up 
another  flight  and  opened  two  corresponding  doors. 
He  did  this  several  times  in  several  houses. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Wait,"  replied  Phillip,  and  he  continued  his  search 
in  the  next  tenement.  And  again  in  the  next. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  tried  once  more,  "  I 
thought  so."  They  were  standing  in  the  half-lighted 
hallway  of  a  third  floor,  and  from  the  rear  flat  came 
the  cries  of  a  child. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Look  there ! "  He  pointed  to  the  boards  under 
one  of  the  two  doors. 

"  They  are  wet,"  said  Haggleton ;  "  some  one  has 
spilled  water  here."  Then  he  looked  closer.  "  No,  it's 
not  water,  it — it's  red !  " 

"  Open  the  door,"  said  Phillip. 

Haggleton  obeyed,  and  in  spite  of  himself  started 
back  at  the  stench.  "  Horrible !  "  he  cried ;  "  what 
is  it?" 


MORE   WRECKS 


119 


"  One  of  the  signs,"  answered  Phillip ;  "  a  thing 
you  can  see  almost  any  day  in  this  block." 
"  But — but  where  does  it  come  from  ?  " 
Phillip    answered    sternly :    "  From    the    men    and 
women  and  children  who  pay  you  rent  for  tainted 
homes.     Sometimes  it's  sprinkled  all  along  the  halls. 
They  have  no  marble  bathrooms,  sir,  these  tenants  of 
yours,  when  they  have  hemorrhages ! " 


CHAPTER   X 

AFTER  THE  BALL 

A   FEW  nights  later,  Phillip  kept  his  promise  to 
Jenny  Moran,  and  accompanied  her  to  one  of 
the  numerous  balls  that  form  so  important  a  factor 
of  the  social  life  of  the  lower  East  Side  of  New  York 
in  winter. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  about  this  one  ex- 
cept the  announcements  printed  on  facsimile  ten-dol- 
lar bills  of  the  Confederate  States  and  setting  forth 
that  the  "  Rose  Leaf  Pleasure  Club  "  would  give  its 
"  Grand  Annual  Mask  and  Civic  Ball "  in  Webster 
Hall,  near  Third  Avenue,  with  "  Little  Buck  "  as  floor 
manager,  and  cash  prizes  for  the  best  "  automobile 
twister,"  and  tickets  at  fifty  cents,  including  "  gent 
and  lady,  and  gent's  hat  check."  Also  the  information 
that  Professor  Kiegelhast's  Famous  Metropolitan 
Orchestra  would  assist. 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  about  two  hundred  couples 
were  doing  a  slow  two-step  with  set  and  serious  faces, 
most  of  the  girls  chewing  gum  in  time  to  the  measure, 
and  many  of  the  young  men  holding  lighted  cigars  or 
cigarettes  between  two  fingers  while  the  other  two 
clasped  the  lady's  hand.  From  time  to  time,  as  they 
turned,  these  grave  gallants  would  manage  to  take  a 
puff  at  the  burning  weed,  and  some  would  whirl 


AFTER   THE   BALL  I2I 

solemnly  for  several  minutes,  the  cigarette  held  care- 
lessly between  their  lips.  It  was  evidently  a  matter  of 
nice  calculation  to  steer  your  partner  through  this  maze 
of  dancers  and  to  smoke  without  setting  fire  to  her. 

When  the  music  stopped,  the  company  withdrew  to 
seats  along  the  walls  by  the  pleasing  and  expeditious 
method  of  sliding  across  the  polished  floor,  with  the 
result  that  a  dancer  in  eccentric  tramp  costume  collided 
violently  with  a  sea  nymph  wearing  a  very  short  skirt 
of  shaggy  green  moss  over  long  black  stockings,  and 
both  were  sent  sprawling;  whereupon  the  sea  nymph, 
with  perfect  self-possession,  asked  the  tramp  what  the 
hell  he  was  trying  to  do. 

Phillip  and  Jenny  sat  down  near  a  rather  pretty 
girl  in  yellow  tights,  who  was  the  center  of  a  group 
where  a  young  man  with  oily  black  hair  was  playfully 
punching  at  her  while  she,  pleased  and  smiling,  par- 
ried the  attack  with  her  feet.  Another  admirer,  ap- 
parently an  embellished  truck  driver,  expressed  the 
opinion  that  her  "  shape  "  was  "  great,"  and  laid  an 
approving  red  hand  upon  it  with  a  request  for  infor- 
mation as  to  where  the  corset  ended;  which  evidently 
embarrassed  the  lady,  for  she  murmured :  "  Aw,  for 
Gawd's  sake,  get  over  it." 

During  the  intermission  cards  were  distributed  call- 
ing attention  to  various  approaching  balls  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, the  "Good  Time  Coterie,"  the  "Timothy 
Mulligan  Association,"  the  "  Floradora  Girls,"  the 
"  Horseshoe  Athletic  Club,"  and  others.  It  was  evi- 
dently the  proper  thing  to  send  these  cards  sailing 
about  the  hall  as  a  conjurer  does,  and  presently  the 
air  was  full  of  them  and  the  dancing  floor  so  thickly 


122  THE   BATTLE 

strewn  that  a  man  had  to  come  in  with  a  broom  and 
sweep  them  off. 

One  look  at  Phillip's  face  showed  Jenny  that  he  did 
not  care  much  for  this,  and  as  she  cared  very  little 
about  it  herself  (what  she  wanted  was  to  get  him 
alone),  she  suggested  that  they  go  up  in  the  gallery 
and  look  on.  And  if  Phillip  felt  like  ordering  two 
glasses  of  beer,  why,  that  would  be  very  nice.  Phillip 
ordered  the  beer,  and  they  took  seats  in  the  gallery. 

"  What  sort  of  people  are  they  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
down  at  the  human  whirl.  Familiar  as  he  was  with 
tenement  life,  he  had  paid  little  attention  to  these  balls 
of  the  people.  "  Who  are  the  women  ?  " 

"  Mostly  shop  girls  and  factory  girls.  There  are 
two  from  our  joint.  See  that  tall  one  in  the  red  dress? 
They  call  her  '  Crooked  Kate,'  she's  so  round-shoul- 
dered. She's  a  '  dipper.'  " 

"And  the  men?" 

"  Oh,  they're  cheap  clerks,  elevator  boys,  factory 
hands — anything.  There's  McKee,  our  foreman,  hug- 
ging that  big  woman  with  the  white  mask.  He's  a 
stuff." 

Jenny  saw  that  Phillip  was  only  half  listening,  evi- 
dently thinking  of  something  else.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
come,  Phil,"  she  said  quickly,  "  if  I'd  thought  it  was 
like  this.  You  know  I  love  to  dance,  and  after  a  girl's 
been  working  hard  all  the  week,  why,  she  needs  a  little 
change,  doesn't  she?" 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
thought :  "  It  can't  do  these  girls  much  good,  this 
sort  of  thing.  They're  not  over  twenty-two  or  twenty- 
three,  and— do  you  think  it  does  them  any  good  ?  " 


rAFTER   THE   BALL  123 

"  Sure,  it  does,"  declared  Jenny ;  "  it's  the  only 
pleasure  they  have,  going  to  balls.  They  go  Saturday 
nights  and  Sunday  afternoons,  and  sometimes  through 
the  week.  Why,  it's  about  all  they  live  for.  I  wish 
you  could  hear  them  at  the  factory  talking  about  the 
fellows  they  meet  and  the  perfectly  grand  times  they 
have." 

"  Do  you  think — "  Phillip  checked  the  question  in 
some  embarrassment. 

"  You  mean,  do  they  keep  straight  ? "  supplied 
Jenny.  "  You  needn't  be  afraid  to  say  things  right 
out.  Some  do,  and  a  good  many  don't.  You  see,  it's 
pretty  late  when  they  get  home — three  or  four  in  the 
morning.  I  guess  they  get  kissed  all  right,  but " — 
she  smiled  coquettishly — "  they  don't  see  any  harm  in 
that." 

"  No,  I — I  suppose  not,"  he  said  absently,  which 
disappointed  Jenny,  for  she  saw  that  her  glance  had 
made  no  impression. 

Jenny  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  that  Phillip 
should  dance  with  her  at  least  once,  and  to  this  end, 
with  a  woman's  diplomacy,  she  dropped  the  subject 
for  the  moment,  and  began  to  talk  of  other  things — 
of  the  new  order  at  the  flat,  of  Haggleton,  and  then 
very  guardedly  of  Margaret.  But  she  soon  saw  that 
she  was  making  no  progress  here,  and  lapsed  into 
silence. 

Presently  the  music  struck  up  an  inviting  waltz  with 
a  languorous,  intensified  beat,  and  Jenny  leaned  for- 
ward with  a  half-sad  and  half -longing  expression, 
which  she  knew  very  well  heightened  her  beauty,  es- 
pecially in  profile.  And  she  sat  like  this  for  a  long 


124  THE   BATTLE 

time  in  dreamy  reverie,  feeling  Phillip's  eyes  on  her. 
Then  suddenly  she  turned  to  him  with  a  warm,  appeal- 
ing look.  "  I  suppose  I  must  give  it  all  up,  mustn't  I, 
Phil?" 

She  was  like  a  disappointed  child,  and  he  felt  sorry 
for  her.  "  You  mean  dancing  ?  Why,  no.  There's  no 
harm  in  dancing." 

"  But  I — I  have  no  one  to  dance  with  me,"  she 
sighed.  "  I've  cut  away  from  my  old  friends,  and 
the  only  ones  are  like — like  McKee  down  there." 

She  bit  her  red  lips,  and  Phillip  thought  she  was  on 
the  point  of  crying.  "  I'll  dance  with  you,  Jenny,"  he 
said  kindly.  "  I  haven't  danced  for  a  long  time,  but 
I'll  do  my  best." 

They  danced  the  next  waltz,  and  as  Phillip  held  the 
lithe  young  creature  and  felt  her  graceful  supple  move- 
ments, he  realized  vaguely  that  she  was  not  created 
for  factory  toil  and  a  dull  tenement  life,  but  for — for 
— what  was  she  created?  And  Jenny,  gliding  to  the 
delicious  measure,  forgot  all  but  one  thing — that  she 
was  here  in  Phillip's  arms,  waltzing  with  Phillip, 
close  to  Phillip,  and  shutting  her  eyes,  she  turned,  and 
dreamed,  and  was  happy. 

On  their  way  home  Phillip  tried  to  have  a  serious 
talk  with  her,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  say  just  the 
right  thing.  "  Tell  me,  Jenny,  how  do  you  like  all 
this  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 

She  laughed.  "  I  told  you  the  other  day.  If  you 
mean  getting  up  at  half  past  six  instead  of  eleven,  I 
don't  like  it  at  all." 

"But  the  rest?" 

"If  you  mean  working  like  a  slave  for  six  dollars 


AFTER   THE   BALL  125 

a  week  instead  of  taking  things  easy,  why,  I  don't  like 
that  either." 

"  Then — then  you  regret  the  old  days  ?  " 

Jenny  turned  to  him  with  a  look  half  mischievous, 
half  tender.  "  No,  because  there's  one  thing  I  do  like, 
and  that  makes  up  for  a  whole  lot :  I — I  like  pleasing 
you,  Phil.  You  know.  I  told  you." 

"  You  mustn't  say  that,  Jenny,"  he  replied ;  "  you 
must  do  right  because  it  is  right.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  Phil,"  she  said  humbly,  but  in  her  heart  she 
had  quite  a  different  idea. 

They  did  not  talk  much  after  that,  but  Phillip 
thought  for  a  long  time  about  this  evening  with  its 
apparently  trivial  happenings,  and  somehow  they  filled 
him  with  a  vague  uneasiness.  He  could  not  see  where 
he  had  been  at  fault ;  it  was  surely  right  to  encourage 
Jenny  and  give  her  a  little  pleasure;  and  as  to  the 
waltz,  why,  a  waltz  was  nothing.  Yet,  reason  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  shake  off  a  sense  of  apprehen- 
sion, and  in  this  mind  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  that 
he  had  committed  a  great  crime,  and  that  he  stood 
in  the  presence  of  many  accusers,  unable  to  defend 
himself. 

In  the  morning  he  awoke  pale  and  unrefreshed,  and 
when  he  joined  the  Moran  household  after  breakfast, 
Haggleton  observed  that  he  looked  tired. 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Phillip ;  "  I'm  not  accustomed 
to  balls." 

"  You'd  think  he  danced  all  night,"  laughed  Jenny. 
"  Well,  he  danced  just  once." 

Haggleton  went  out  with  Phillip.    He,  too,  had  slept 


126  THE   BATTLE 

badly;  he  had  been  awakened  when  Jenny  came  in, 
and  for  more  than  an  hour  he  had  thought  about  this 
boy,  his  son.  He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  his  going 
out  with  Jenny  Moran.  And  he  had  resolved  to  have 
a  word  with  Phillip  on  the  subject. 

He  began  by  talking  about  Margaret. 

"  She  looks  to  me  like  a  fine  girl,"  he  approved, 
"  but  if  I  know  anything  about  women,  she's  got  a  bit 
of  spirit  in  her,  and — you'd  better  cut  out  anybody 
else." 

"  You  mean  Jenny  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  believe  Miss  Lawrence  will  like  your 
going  to  balls  with  another  girl." 

Phillip  started  to  explain  the  situation  as  well  as 
he  could  without  revealing  Jenny's  previous  life,  but 
Haggleton  interrupted  him :  "  I  know  about  that ;  I 
have  lived  sixty  years  with  my  eyes  wide  open.  It  was 
not  so  hard  to  guess  as  you  think,  young  man." 

"  Then  you  must  approve  of  my  doing  what  I  can  to 
help  her?" 

"  Does  it  help  her  much  to  dance  with  her  ?  "  re- 
plied Haggleton  dryly. 

"  It  helps  her  to  know  that  some  one  has  faith  in 
her,  doesn't  it?  It  helps  her  to  feel  that  some  one  is 
kind  to  her?  What  would  you  have  me  do;  let  her 
go  to  pieces  ?  " 

"  She'll  probably  do  that,  anyway,"  said  Haggleton. 

"  There's  more  of  your  brutal  philosophy,"  ex- 
claimed Phillip.  "  Because  a  woman  is  down  or  a 
man  is  down,  you  think  that's  a  good  reason  why  they 
should  stay  down." 

Haggleton  thought  a  moment.     "  It  may  be  worth 


AFTER   THE   BALL  127 

while  to  do  missionary  work  among  these  women ;  I 
don't  know ;  but  .  .  ." 

Phillip  flushed  in  anger.  "  You  dare  to  insinuate 
that " 

Haggleton  smiled. 

"  I  dare  to  insinuate  that  you're  a  vigorous  young 
fellow  of  twenty-four,  and  you'd  better  keep  out  of 
temptation.  See  here,  no  offense,  but  facts  are  facts." 

"  I  have  a  clear  responsibility  toward  this  girl,"  re- 
torted Phillip.  "  I  promised  her  sister  to  do  what  I 
could  for  her — and — besides,  she  trusts  me,  and  will 
do  as  I  tell  her."  He  paused,  and  then  said  sharply: 
"  If  other  people  had  felt  their  responsibility  toward 
her  as  I  do,  she  wouldn't  be  where  she  is  to-day." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Haggleton. 
"  You're  not  trying  to  put  the  responsibility  on  me, 
are  you  ? " 

"  I  am,  in  a  way.  You  control  the  New  York  Cen- 
tral, don't  you?" 

"  Why,  I — I  suppose  so,"  answered  Haggleton,  sur- 
prised at  this  sudden  turn. 

"  Well,  the  New  York  Central  killed  her  husband 
at  one  of  its  grade  crossings  in  Yonkers.  The  law 
tells  you  to  put  gates  at  these  crossings,  but  you  laugh 
at  the  law,  and  every  year  you  kill  hundreds  of  inno- 
cent citizens  as  you  killed  her  husband.  Then  you  re- 
fused to  pay  her  a  cent  of  damages,  and,  as  she  was  a 
poor  woman,  she  couldn't  press  the  suit.  So  she  was 
left  without  a  dollar  in  the  world,  and  she  had  a  little 
baby,  and — well,  the  end  of  it  was  she  went  on  the 
town." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Haggleton. 


128  THE   BATTLE 

"  There's  a  good  deal  you  rich  men  don't  know,  and 
don't  want  to  know.  I  tell  you,  Jenny  Moran  would 
be  a  good  woman  to-day  if  she'd  had  a  fair  chance. 
She's  trying  to  do  right  now ;  she's  making  a  plucky 
fight,  and  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  turn  my  back  on 
her  as  your  criminal  railroad  did,  then  you're  very 
much  mistaken." 

Haggleton  saw  that  further  argument  was  useless. 
After  all,  what  could  his  worldly  wisdom  avail  against 
the  impetuous  and  guileless  chivalry  of  twenty-four? 
So  he  dropped  the  subject. 


CHAPTER   XI 

OUR  DAILY   BREAD 

MEANWHILE,  Haggleton  had  not  allowed 
Moran  to  forget  his  unwilling  promise  that 
he  would  procure  the  place  of  the  sick  baker's  assist- 
ant for  "Jackson,"  who  was  so  eager  to  go  to  work  and 
in  such  sore  need  of  something  to  do.  The  opportunity 
presented  itself  sooner  than  he  had  dared  to  hope. 
One  morning,  a  day  or  two  after  the  millionaire's  sec- 
ond tour  with  Phillip  among  his  tenements  and  their 
occupants,  a  boy  arrived  from  the  bakery  to  tell  Moran 
that  he  was  to  take  charge  of  the  night  shift,  and  must 
report  that  evening  at  six.  Moran,  thoughtful  for 
once  of  others,  sent  the  boy  back  with  word  that  he 
could  bring  the  assistant  he  had  already  spoken  about, 
and  the  answer  came  shortly  afterwards  by  the  same 
carrier  that  he  must  not  fail  to  do  so.  The  helper  had 
"  completely  given  out."  It  was  typhoid  beyond  a 
doubt. 

Having  warned  Haggleton  to  take  a  good  rest  in 
the  afternoon,  the  baker  disappeared,  as  usual.  The 
millionaire  decided  to  pay  another  visit  of  inspection 
to  his  tenements,  but  this  time  alone.  It  was  a  new 
experience.  Phillip  was  known  and  welcomed  wher- 
ever he  went,  and  so  were  Gentle  and  Margaret.  But 
the  owner  of  all  this  shameful  property  had  the 

129 


130  THE   BATTLE 

Strange  experience  of  having  doors  slammed  in  his 
face  and  of  being  ordered  out  of  his  own  houses  by 
his  own  janitors,  who  looked  upon  him  with  darkest 
suspicion.  Yet,  wherever  he  went,  he  could  not  help 
seeing  that  conditions,  bad  as  they  were  in  themselves, 
were  aggravated  at  least  fifty  per  cent  by  the  shift- 
lessness,  the  neglect,  of  his  tenants.  Haggleton  was 
beginning  to  formulate  his  own  plans  of  tenement 
reform.  He  would  keep  them  to  himself  until  the 
proper  moment  came  to  lay  them  before  his  son.  At 
least,  they  would  be  practical. 

By  one  he  was  back  home,  and  at  Jenny's  suggestion 
lay  down  to  get  some  sleep  in  anticipation  of  a  long 
night's  work.  By  five  Moran  came  in,  and,  after  an- 
other tirade  against  capital,  based  upon  an  editorial 
in  the  paper  he  had  brought  with  him,  bade  him  pre- 
pare to  accompany  him. 

The  plumbing  in  the  bakeshop  was  all  defective, 
Moran  explained,  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  place, 
the  traps  to  sink  and  soil  pipes  being  out  of  order,  so 
that  the  water  was  in  danger  of  contamination. 

"  Not  the  water  you  use  in  making  bread  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Haggleton. 

"  That's  the  only  water  we  have,"  replied  Moran ; 
"  it's  the  only  water  John  J.  gives  us." 

"  Haggleton?    What  has  he  to  do  with  it?  " 

"Just  a  little — he  owns  the  property." 

Haggleton  frowned. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Am  I  sure  ?  "  sneered  Moran.  "  Haven't  I  seen 
the  rent  receipts  for  five  years?  I'm  foreman.  Ah, 
here  we  are !  " 


OUR   DAILY   BREAD  131 

They  stopped  before  a  six-story  tenement  on  Mar- 
ket Street,  its  dark  hallway  opening  between  a  dingy 
bakeshop  and  a  dressmaking  establishment  where  lay 
figures  in  the  window  showed  "  the  latest  styles  from 
Paris." 

"  Careful  now,"  cautioned  Moran.  "  Hold  on  to  the 
railing.  It's  steep." 

He  led  the  way  down  into  a  deep  hole  under  the 
street,  the  iron  steps  slanting  like  a  ladder,  and  slippery 
with  mud  and  ice.  Haggleton  followed  cautiously  and 
found  himself  in  a  long,  low  basement  lighted  here  and 
there  by  flaring  gas  jets.  As  the  door  opened,  he  felt 
a  hot,  foul  breath  as  from  a  sour  and  moldy  cavern. 
The  air  was  full  of  white  dust,  the  walls  were  damp 
and  greenish  white,  bare  bricks  showing  in  places 
where  the  plaster  had  fallen  off,  and  the  wooden  floor 
was  sifted  over  with  a  mealy  mixture  of  flour  and 
dirt.  In  the  shadows  he  made  out  rows  of  flour  bar- 
rels and  bags  of  flour,  and  through  a  disorder  of 
wooden  troughs  and  mixing  benches  and  piles  of 
wooden  trays  he  saw  at  the  far  end  the  red  eyes  and 
mouth  of  a  wide  oven  for  the  baking. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock,  and  already  two  men  were 
preparing  for  the  night's  work,  stripping  off  filthy 
clothing  down  to  the  undershirts,  and  throwing  the 
garments  upon  convenient  flour  barrels.  The  men 
were  pallid  and  hollow-eyed;  one  of  them  in  a  red 
shirt  coughed  constantly;  the  other  chewed  tobacco. 
They  rolled  up  their  sleeves,  baring  thin  white  arms, 
and  went  to  work,  the  tobacco  chewer  bending  over  the 
kneading  trough  while  the  red-shirted  man  busied  him- 
self at  the  ovens.  Moran  explained  that  the  former 


132  THE   BATTLE 

was  "  second  hand  "  and  the  latter  the  "  third  hand." 
It  took  four  to  run  this  bakeshop. 

"Where's  the  boss?" 

"  Home,  upstairs ;  he  works  in  the  daytime.  I'm  in 
charge  at  night." 

As  Haggleton's  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dust 
and  the  uncertain  light,  he  discovered  a  grayish  figure 
lying  on  a  pile  of  bags  behind  a  steaming  vat.  It  was 
a  man  asleep,  his  head  resting  on  a  sack  of  flour. 

"  That's  the  sick  helper,"  said  Moran. 

"  The  one  who  has  typhoid  fever  ?  " 

"  We  don't  know  what  kind  of  fever  it  is." 

"  But  he  ought  not  to  be  here ;  he  ought  not  to  be 
sleeping  on  that  sack  of  flour.  You  won't  use  the 
flour,  will  you  ?  " 

Moran  laughed.  "  The  flour  he's  sleeping  on  ?  Sure, 
we'll  use  it.  We  don't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that." 

Haggleton  took  off  his  coat  and  prepared  to  work. 

"  I'll  start  you  at  something  easy,"  said  Moran. 
"  Down  here." 

They  went  to  the  ovens  where  the  "  third  hand  " 
was  taking  out  a  batch  of  finished  loaves,  about  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  of  them  ranged  along  in  yellow  circles 
on  the  hot  brick  floor.  He  stood  at  the  iron  door 
thrusting  in  a  long-handled,  flat,  wooden  shovel,  on 
which,  by  a  quick  movement,  he  would  slide  two  or 
three  of  the  crackling  loaves,  and  then  draw  them  out. 

"  Now,"  said  Moran  to  Haggleton,  "  as  he  takes  'em 
out.  on  the  peel,  you  put  'em  in  these  boxes."  He 
pointed  to  a  pile  of  wooden  trays.  "  When  you  get  a 
box  full,  brush  'em  over  with  the  stuff  in  that  can.  It's 
potato  water,  to  give  'em  a  good  color," 


OUR   DAILY   BREAD  133 

Moran  illustrated  this  operation  once,  and  then  left 
Haggleton  to  continue  it,  which  he  did  to  the  best  of 
his  ability.  It  was  hot  by  the  ovens,  and  each  boxful 
of  loaves  weighed  thirty  or  forty  pounds  so  that 
before  the  task  was  finished  both  Haggleton  and  the 
"third  hand"  were  perspiring  freely  and  were  smeared 
with  black  from  the  fire.  Occasionally  the  "  third 
hand  "  would  lay  down  his  peel  and  stop  to  cough. 
Then  he  would  spit  on  the  floor  and  go  back  to  his 
work. 

"  Now  run  'em  up  to  the  shop,"  ordered  Moran 
when  they  had  finished.  "  There,  on  that  dumb-waiter. 
A  boy'll  take  'em  off." 

This  meant  a  second  handling  of  all  the  loaves  and 
boxes,  and  a  vigorous  working  of  the  ropes  up  and 
down.  Haggleton  did  not  complain. 

"  You're  a  pretty  fair  helper,"  chuckled  Moran. 
"  Ought  to  be  worth  six  dollars  a  week." 

"  More  than  that,"  replied  Haggleton.  "  Where  did 
you  get  the  potato  water  I  put  on  those  loaves?  I 
mean  the  water,  not  the  potatoes." 

"  There,  at  the  sink.  Yes,  the  one  with  no  trap  to 
it — the  typhoid-fever  sink.  You're  thinking  it  won't 
do  people  any  good  to  eat  that  bread.  Maybe  not. 
Huh !  Now  you  can  do  some  kneading." 

They  went  to  a  long  trough  where  the  tobacco 
chewer  was  in  hand-to-hand  conflict  with  a  great  mass 
of  dough,  three  or  four  hundred  pounds,  that  seemed 
to  writhe  and  quiver  in  his  arms  like  a  live  creature. 
He  had  to  bend  far  over  this  trough,  and  thrust  his 
bare  arms  down  into  the  dough  until  his  hands  touched 
the  bottom.  Then,  with  a  strong  effort,  he  would  tear 


134  THE   BATTLE 

away  fifty  or  sixty  pounds  from  the  end  of  the  mass 
and  drag  it  over  to  the  other  end,  and  then  go  back  for 
more.  And  then  for  more.  And  so  on,  using  the 
utmost  strength  of  arms  and  back,  doing  work  which 
a  professional  gymnast  would  call  severe,  and  doing 
it  for  half  an  hour  at  a  stretch. 

"  You  watch  him  awhile,  and  then  do  the  rest," 
said  Moran. 

Haggleton  watched  the  "  second  hand,"  and  pres- 
ently took  his  turn  at  the  trough  and  struggled  with 
the  dough.  For  twenty  minutes  he  turned  the  sticky, 
sodden  mass  over  and  over  upon  itself,  kneading  it 
and  crushing  it  down  and  tearing  it  apart  until  his 
whole  body  ached. 

"  That'll  do,"  relented  Moran  finally. 

"  What  are  those  brown  stains  in  the  trough  ? " 
asked  Haggleton. 

Moran  examined  the  stains  and  frowned.  "  That 
fool  has  been  dribbling  tobacco  juice  in  the  dough 
again.  Petro,"  he  said  sharply,  "  look  there !  Haven't 
I  told  you  to  spit  on  the  floor  if  you  have  to  spit  ?  " 

Petro  mumbled  his  penitence,  and  promised  to  be 
careful  in  the  future. 

After  this  Haggleton  helped  the  "  third  hand  "  swab 
out  the  oven  and  make  a  fresh  fire  of  coke  and  wood 
in  the  corner  of  it  for  the  next  baking.  Then  he 
helped  Moran,  who  was  now  shaping  the  finished 
dough  into  loaves,  weighing  each  one  on  a  scale,  and 
then  fitting  them  into  "  raising  "  boxes,  each  of  which 
had  to  be  separately  brought  and  then  separately  car- 
ried away. 

"  We'll  make  a  baker  of  you  yet,  Jackson,"  grinned 


OUR   DAILY   BREAD  135 

the  foreman.  "  Before  these  loaves  go  into  the  oven, 
we  brush  'em  over  with  eggs  to  get  a  nice  brown. 
You  can  do  that.  Here's  the  can  and  brush,  and  the 
eggs  are  in  that  box.  Break  half  a  dozen  in  the  can 
and  go  ahead." 

Haggleton  obeyed,  but  presently  came  back  to 
Moran,  holding  the  can  at  arm's  length  and  wrinkling 
his  nose  with  little  sniffs.  "  These  eggs  are  bad." 

"  Are,  eh  ?  Well,  what  do  you  expect  for  thirty 
cents  a  hundred  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would  use  bad  eggs,"  said  Hag- 
gleton. 

"  You're  not  here  to  think,  Mister  Jackson.  I  told 
you  what  to  do ;  now  do  it." 

Haggleton  went  back  to  his  task,  and  for  ten  minutes 
plied  the  brush,  smearing  the  unbaked  loaves  with  this 
slimy  and  sickening  mixture.  Then  he  broke  more 
eggs  and  smeared  more  loaves.  Most  of  the  eggs 
were  bad.  Finally,  he  finished  the  job,  and  another 
batch  was  ready. 

So  the  night  advanced,  and  Haggleton  worked  with 
scarcely  a  pause;  he  rolled  barrels  and  dragged  bags 
as  fresh  flour  was  needed ;  he  carried  coke  for  the  fires 
and  split  wood;  he  helped  at  the  sponging  tubs;  he 
sifted  flour;  he  bent  over  the  kneading  trough;  he 
carried  boxes ;  he  drew  water  at  the  sink ;  he  worked 
the  dumb-waiter;  he  stood  by  at  the  ovens;  and  he 
never  complained.  At  ten  o'clock  he  thought  his 
strength  had  failed  him ;  he  was  sore  all  over  and  sick 
and  weak,  but  he  forced  himself  to  keep  on. 

At  midnight  he  asked  for  a  few  minutes'  rest,  but 
Moran  shook  his  head ;  he  must  do  his  work ;  another 


136  THE   BATTLE 

batch  of  loaves  was  ready — ready  for  the  eggs.  The 
eggs !  .  Haggleton  tried  to  respond  as  before ;  he  was 
game,  he  would  not  give  up  to  this  brute,  but  his  knees 
bent  under  him ;  he  felt  his  lips  going  white,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  nausea  overcame  him.  His  stomach  at  last  re- 
volted, and  he  had  a  violent  fit  of  vomiting. 

"  Knocked  out,  eh  ? "  said  Moran.  "  Lie  down 
there." 

The  millionaire  lay  down  on  some  bags  of  flour, 
and  Moran  threw  an  empty  sack  over  him.  He 
groaned  and  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
did  not  move. 

Moran  went  on  with  his  work. 

Haggleton  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  and  thought  he 
was  riding  out  a  storm  at  sea.  About  two  o'clock  he 
was  wakened  suddenly  by  the  clanging  of  a  fire  engine. 
He  sat  up  weakly,  and  leaned  against  a  bag  of  flour. 
The  air  was  stifling  hot  and  unspeakably  foul.  The 
men  were  at  their  same  routine,  but  the  "  third  hand  " 
had  thrown  off  his  red  shirt  and  was  plying  his  peel  at 
the  oven  bare  to  the  waist.  Haggleton  could  see  the 
sweat  running  down  his  arms  and  back  as  he  handled 
the  loaves. 

Presently  Moran  came  over  to  him,  and  sat  down  on 
a  barrel.  "  Feeling  better?  " 

Haggleton  nodded. 

"  It  always  makes  a  new  man  sick.  You'll  get  used 
to  it." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Haggleton.  "  Are  there  many 
bakeshops  like  this  in  New  York?" 

"  Dozens  like  this,  and  some  worse." 

"  Not  worse  than  this?" 


OUR  DAILY   BREAD  137 

"  Huh !  "  retorted  Moran,  "  I'd  like  to  show  you  one 
on  Allen  Street.  Dogs  and  chickens  all  about,  and — 
hey,  Petro,"  he  called,  "  roll  that  barrel  here." 

Petro  rolled  over  a  barrel  filled  with  crumbs  of  sour 
bread  and  moldy  dough  and  sweepings  from  the  floor. 

"  See  that  ?  "  continued  Moran.  "  We  let  it  go  as 
garbage,  but  there  are  bakers  who  use  it.  Yes,  sir, 
they  soak  it  in  stuff  that  takes  away  the  smell,  then 
they  dry  it,  and  put  in  currants  and  molasses  and  bake 
it  into  cakes.  And  God  knows  who  eats  'em." 

"  That's  an  outrage !  "  exclaimed  Haggleton. 

Moran  leaned  toward  him  with  a  gleam  of  hatred. 
"  I'll  tell  you  another  outrage,  Mister  Jackson ;  it's 
when  a  landlord  takes  big  rent  for  a  rotten  cellar  like 
this  and  won't  fix  the  plumbing.  Do  you  see  that  little 
door?  Just  look  in  when  your  stomach  gets  steady 
and  say  how  it  strikes  you.  No  wonder  we're  sick.  I 
worked  in  a  cellar  bakeshop  on  Hester  Street  where 
the  plumbing  was  so  bad  we  got  a  back  flow  from  the 
sewer  every  time  it  rained  hard,  and  the  whole  floor 
was — well,  I'll  cut  out  the  rest." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  muttered  Haggleton,  "  but  all  this 
must  be  against  the  law  ?  " 

"  Much  good  that  does." 

"  You  mean  the  law  isn't  enforced  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  mean." 

"  Why  isn't  it  enforced  ?  " 

Moran  laughed  harshly.  "  That's  a  fine  question  to 
ask,  why  a  law  isn't  enforced.  Why  aren't  the  laws 
enforced  against  trusts  and  railroads  ?  Because  some- 
body has  damned  good  grafting  reasons  for  not  en- 
forcing them.  It's  the  same  here." 


138  THE   BATTLE 

"  H'm !  "  said  Haggleton.  "  How  many  bakeshops 
are  there  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five  hundred  or  so." 

"  How  many  men  to  a  shop  ?  " 

"  The  little  shops  have  four,  but  the  big  shops  have 
ten  or  twenty.  There  must  be  fifteen  thousand  bakers 
in  New  York,  easy." 

"  And  most  of  them  live  in  tenements?  " 

"  Where  do  you  think  they  live  ?    At  the  Waldorf  ?  " 

Haggleton  went  on  quietly.  "  You  say  there's  a 
lot  of  sickness  among  them  ?  " 

"  My  God !  "  burst  out  Moran,  "  of  course  there's 
a  lot  of  sickness.  How  can  men  work  in  holes  like  this 
and  not  get  sick?  There's  rheumatism  and  asthma 
and  fever  and  consumption.  That's  the  worst — con- 
sumption. We've  got  it,  hundreds  of  us,  and  we 
spread  it;  sometimes  we  get  it  here  and  carry  it  to 
the  tenements;  sometimes  we  get  it  in  the  tenements 
and  carry  it  here,  and  either  way  the  millionaires  are 
to  blame,  only — "  He  paused,  and  a  grim  smile 
spread  over  his  thin  face. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Haggleton. 

"  You  know  bread  is  spongy  stuff,  and  takes  up  any- 
thing near  it,  germs  and  dirt  and  bad  water.  Well, 
we  make  the  bread,  but  they  eat  it." 

"  Not  this  bread !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  who  eats  this  bread  ?  How  do 
you  know  who  makes  the  bread  you  eat  ?  A  quarter  of 
a  million  loaves  and  cakes  are  made  every  day  in  New 
York  by  sick  bakers — that's  putting  it  low — and  some- 
body eats  'em,  germs  and  all.  Well  ?  " 

"  The  germs  are  killed  in  the  baking." 


OUR   DAILY   BREAD  139 

"  How  about  germs  on  the  crust  ?  Besides,  baking 
may  not  kill  the  germs.  The  heat  in  the  middle  of  a 
good-sized  loaf  is  way  under  two  hundred,  and  it  takes 
two  hundred  and  twelve  to  make  sure  of  killing  germs. 
I  read  how  a  London  doctor  tried  it,  and  found  thir- 
teen different  kinds  of  microbes  in  a  loaf  that  had  been 
baked !  Yes,  sir,  found  'em  alive  and  kicking." 

Moran  went  back  to  his  work,  leaving  the  other  to 
ponder  this.  It  was  after  three  o'clock,  and  already 
the  early  wagons  were  rattling  through  the  streets, 
gathering  up  bread  for  the  city's  breakfast.  Haggle- 
ton  had  seen  one  night's  work  in  one  bakery.  He  had 
watched  the  making  of  five  or  six  hundred  of  the  mil- 
lion or  more  loaves  required  every  day  to  stay  a  city's 
hunger.  He  had  seen  these  loaves  handled  by  two 
consumptives  in  a  place  where  nothing  was  clean, 
where  the  very  dust  in  the  air  was  tainted  with  disease. 
He  thought  about  this  for  a  long  time,  and  with  his 
thoughts,  by  habit  of  years,  came  a  plan  of  action ;  and 
presently  when  Moran  returned  he  saw  in  Haggle- 
ton's  face  such  a  look  of  purpose  and  resourcefulness 
that  he  marveled  and  said,  only  half  in  jest :  "  I  sup- 
pose you're  going  to  show  us  how  to  run  these  bake- 
shops  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Haggleton,  with  a  snap  of  decision,  "  I 
think  I  am." 


CHAPTER   XII 

HAGGLETON   TAKES    COMMAND 

MORAN  had  taken  a  vicious  delight  in  making 
Jackson's  work  in  the  bakery  as  hard  as  pos- 
sible. The  millionaire  never  forgot,  in  later  years, 
that  first  night  in  the  murky,  dirty  cellar,  the  sickening 
moist  odor  of  the  fresh  bread,  the  nausea  it  gave  him, 
the  exhaustion  caused  by  labor  almost  as  hard,  he 
thought,  as  that  of  a  blacksmith.  He  had  staggered 
home  dizzy,  on  trembling  knees,  too  weary  almost  to 
undress.  The  experience  had  taught  him  a  lesson, 
however.  Now  he  understood  why  it  is  so  hard  for 
the  poor  to  keep  scrupulously  clean. 

Moran  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  usual  fashion,  with- 
out cleaning  himself  at  all.  Haggleton  had  had  to 
exert  all  his  will  power  not  to  follow  his  example.  He 
had  shakily,  but  determinedly,  removed  the  dough 
sticking  to  his  arms  and  fingers,  brushed  from  his 
gray  hair  the  flour  that  had  whitened  it,  neatly  folded 
his  clothes,  washed  himself  and  finally  sunk  into  a 
sleep  from  which  he  awakened  in  the  morning  unre- 
freshed. 

And  yet,  stiff  and  sore  though  he  was,  in  a  way  he 
began  to  feel  better  than  he  had  felt  in  many  a  long 
day.  His  digestion  seemed  to  benefit  by  the  grueling 
work,  at  which  he  stuck  for  a  week,  undeterred  by 

140 


HAGGLETON   TAKES   COMMAND      141 

Gentle's  warnings,  put  on  his  mettle  by  Phillip's  covert 
looks  of  curiosity. 

His  plan  had  been  matured  on  the  morning  after 
his  first  night's  experience,  but  he  was  accustomed  to 
move  cautiously  until  he  was  ready.  And  so  he  had 
learned  all  there  was  to  learn  about  the  trade  before  he 
resigned  his  place  as  substitute  fourth  helper.  The 
man  for  whom  he  substituted  had  been  removed  to  the 
hospital. 

Moran  jeered  at  him  when  he  announced  his  de- 
termination to  "  throw  up  the  job."  Phillip,  when  he 
heard  of  it,  looked  astonished,  then  disappointed. 
Gentle's  face  was  inscrutable.  Jenny  approved,  be- 
cause she  thought  that  Mr.  Jackson  could  find  some- 
thing better  to  do.  But  inwardly  she  wondered  a  little 
where  his  next  week's  board  money  was  to  come  from. 
Joe  sympathized  on  general  principles  with  every  man 
who  stopped  working.  It  put  him  in  countenance. 

Jackson,  however,  who  had  selected  Sunday  morn- 
ing to  make  his  announcement,  when  all  the  members 
of  his  little  circle  of  acquaintances  in  the  district  were 
present,  with  the  exception  of  Margaret  Lawrence, 
whom  as  yet  he  had  not  seen  since  that  first  brief 
glimpse  of  her,  quietly  answered  Moran's  sneer: 

"  You  asked  me  that  first  night,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
was  going  to  show  you  how  to  run  these  bakeshops, 
and  I  told  you  that  I  was.  Well,  I  am  going  to  do  it. 
You  think  that  I  am  through  with  bread  baking? 
Why,  I  am  only  just  beginning.  Listen,  all  of  you; 
I  am  going  to  take  you  in  with  me." 

"  Not  me,"  said  Gentle. 

"  Not  you,  Mr.  Gentle,  if  you  won't  come  in." 


142  THE   BATTLE 

"And  you  Phillip?"  asked  the  old  diver. 

"  I  am  going  to  listen  to  what  he  has  to  say,"  an- 
swered the  young  man  cautiously. 

Haggleton  saw  that  he  had  won  a  victory  far  greater 
than  the  success  of  his  projected  bakery  trust — he  had 
succeeded  in  interesting  Phillip.  So  he  proceeded 
forthwith  to  question  the  suspicious  Moran,  as  the 
quickest  way  of  unfolding  his  plan  to  the  young  man. 

"  If  you're  not  in  a  hurry,  Moran,"  he  remarked  as 
they  finished  breakfast,  "  I'd  like  to  ask  some  ques- 
tions." 

"  About  bakeshops  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Does  your  boss  make  much  out  of  his  busi- 
ness?" 

Moran  shook  his  head.  "  When  he's  paid  rent  and 
wages,  there's  just  enough  left  to  take  care  of  his  fam- 
ily— in  a  tenement." 

"  What's  the  rent  of  that  basement?  " 

"  Thirty  dollars." 

Haggleton  thought  a  moment. 

"  Suppose  I  offered  him  the  basement,  rent  free,  and 
guaranteed  as  much  business  as  he  does  now,  do  you 
think  he'd  go  into  a  scheme  I've  got?  " 

"  Ye— es." 

"  Well,  there's  money  in  these  bakeshops,  money 
for  all  of  us.  What  kind  of  a  man  is  your  boss,  any- 
way? He  never  was  around  at  night,  so  I  don't  know 
him." 

"  The  boss?    He's  Italian — used  to  be  a  ragpicker." 

"  H'm !    Can  he  be  managed  ?  " 

"  He  can  if  he  wants  to,"  growled  Moran,  "  but — 
you've  got  to  show  him  first." 


HAGGLETON   TAKES    COMMAND      143 

"  I'll  show  him  all  right,"  said  Haggleton,  "  but  tell 
me  things  straight.  This  is  a  case  of  building  up  a 
business — understand  ?  " 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  Moran.  "  What  do  you  know 
about  running  a  bakeshop  ?  " 

Haggleton  smiled.  "  What  do  you  pay  for  flour?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Six  or  seven  dollars  a  barrel." 

"  Ah,  that's  how  you  buy  it?  " 

*  Sure,  thirty  or  forty  barrels  a  week." 

"  Whom  do  you  buy  it  from  ?  " 

"  Jobbers." 

Haggleton  looked  at  him  steadily,  his  eyes  showing 
half  pity,  half  contempt.  "  No  wonder  you  people  are 
poor !  You — you  don't  know  any  more  about  business 
than  children  in  the  street." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Miserable,  petty,  shoe-string  methods,  saving  pen- 
nies on  sour  crumbs  and  bad  eggs  when  you  might  do 
things  in  a  big  clean  way  and  make  a  fortune !  " 

"  A  fortune  ?  "  asked  Phillip  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  fortune.    And  I'll  show  you  how." 

Haggleton  asked  more  questions,  going  into  details 
of  the  bread-making  industry,  wages,  methods  of  work, 
cost  of  equipment,  etc.,  moving  rapidly  from  point  to 
point,  until  presently  he  came  upon  one  fact  of  master 
importance,  that  there  was  a  machine  for  kneading 
dough — a  machine  run  by  electricity  which  would  do 
the  work  of  six  men  and  turn  out  better  bread  than 
could  be  made  by  hand. 

"  Ah,"  exclaimed  Haggleton,  "  now  we're  getting 
at  it !  I'd  like  to  see  that  machine." 


144  THE   BATTLE 

"  You'll  have  to  go  uptown  to  a  big  bakeshop." 

"  None  down  here  ?  " 

Moran  scowled.  "  What  do  you  think  we  are?  A 
machine  like  that  costs  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

Haggleton  looked  pleased.  "  Good !  Now,  how 
many  bakeshops  are  there  near  yours,  say  within  two 
or  three  blocks  ?  " 

Moran  counted  them  up. 

"  Nine — ten — eleven " 

"  That's  enough.  We'll  make  a  combination  with 
six  or  eight;  we'll  sell  them  flour  for  less  than  they 
pay  the  jobbers  and " 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?  "  interrupted  Gentle. 

"  We'll  get  it  by  the  car  load  direct  from  the  mills. 
Then  we'll  have  one  of  those  machines  and  do  all  the 
kneading  for  the  combination." 

Phillip  stared  at  Haggleton,  who  went  on  quietly: 
"  You  see  how  easy  it  is  ?  We  save  on  wages  and 
materials;  we  do  a  bigger  business  because  we  sell 
better  bread ;  so  we  make  money  both  ways." 

"  It's  a  regular  trust,"  said  Gentle. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Haggleton,  "  it's  a  bakeshop  trust." 

"  What  capital  have  you  got  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 

"Ever  hear  of  promoters?"  asked  the  millionaire 
tersely. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  am  promoting  this.  The  bakers  need  that 
machine,  the  manufacturer  is  perfectly  willing  to  sup- 
ply it  on  terms  that  guarantee  him  his  money,  even 
if  he  has  to  wait  for  it.  A  chattel  mortgage  given 
by  the  members  of  the  trust  I  am  about  to  organize 
will  be  good  security,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken. 


HAGGLETON   TAKES    COMMAND      145 

I  could  use  three  hundred  dollars  to  advantage  right 
now,  but  I  do  not  need  them." 

"  Three  hundred  dollars !  "  sniffed  Moran.  "  What 
can  you  do  with  that  ?  " 

Haggleton  bared  his  teeth  like  an  old  wolf.  "  With 
three  hundred  dollars  you  can  get  a  grip  on  Manhat- 
tan Island,  and — never  let  go,  if  you  know  how." 

Phillip  was  deeply  impressed.  He  was  stimulated, 
yet  vaguely  alarmed.  Haggleton  was  awakening  in 
him  qualities  of  mind  and  vague  longings  that  had  lain 
dormant  thus  far,  and  that  he  recognized  now  with 
some  uneasiness.  He  had  sometimes  wondered  if  he 
possessed  business  ability,  but  had  given  the  matter 
little  thought,  feeling  sure  that  his  work  lay  in  quite 
another  field ;  he  was  a  fighter  for  high  principle,  a 
champion  of  the  downtrodden,  not  a  groveler  for 
gold ;  yet,  somehow,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  fas- 
cination of  buying  and  selling,  of  making  shrewd  com- 
binations in  the  market,  and  of  winning  out  by  this 
or  that  strategy  in  the  great  game  of  trade.  He  tried 
to  brush  all  this  aside  as  a  sordid  and  unworthy  ap- 
peal, assuring  himself  that  his  interest  was  only  a 
passing  one,  and  that  he  would  certainly  never  allow 
himself  to  come  under  the  ascendancy  of  this  man 
Haggleton,  whose  selfish  life  and  cruel  methods  of 
money  conquest  he  held  in  abhorrence.  Still,  he  had 
to  admit  that  this  bakeshop  experiment  was  very 
interesting,  and  if  it  resulted  in  giving  better  bread 
to  the  people  with  better  conditions  in  the  making, 
why,  it  was  not  for  him  to  oppose  it.  So  it  was  with 
strangely  mixed  motives  that  he  exclaimed  impul- 
sively : 


146  THE   BATTLE 

"  I  can  furnish  the  three  hundred  dollars ! " 

Haggleton  suppressed  the  feeling  of  exultation  that 
rose  within  him  as  he  recognized  himself  in  his  son. 
He  quietly  said :  "  That  will  hasten  things  somewhat," 
and  proceeded  to  give  his  directions. 

In  the  morning  Phillip  was  to  buy  one  of  these 
kneading  machines,  paying  a  hundred  dollars  down, 
the  balance  being  arranged  for  in  successive  monthly 
payments,  secured  by  a  chattel  mortgage.  He — Hag- 
gleton— would  get  the  bakers  to  be  jointly  responsible 
here  with  them.  If  they  objected,  he  could  give  them 
a  bonus  from  their  capital  for  the  next  month's  rent. 

Then  Phillip  must  find  a  bakeshop  with  electric 
street  connections  for  the  machine.  Did  Moran  know 
one?  Yes,  in  Catherine  Street.  Good!  They  must 
get  the  boss  there  into  the  combination,  show  him  all 
the  advantages,  and,  if  necessary,  to  give  him  a  bonus. 
The  kneading  machine  must  be  set  up  there.  It 
wouldn't  cost  this  man  a  cent,  as  the  combination 
would  assume  all  expenses. 

The  rest  would  be  easy.  Six  other  bakers  must 
agree  to  buy  from  the  combination  thirty  or  forty 
barrels  of  flour  a  week,  or  whatever  quantity  they 
usually  bought,  on  the  express  stipulation  that  they 
got  it  at  ten  per  cent  off  the  jobbers'  price.  And  they 
must  make  themselves  responsible  for  this  amount 
of  flour,  so  many  car  loads,  by  signing  a  joint  note 
payable  to  the  mill  owners  in  thirty  days. 

Phillip  thought  that  the  mill  owners  might  refuse 
to  accept  such  a  note,  but  Haggleton  was  sure  it 
could  be  accomplished.  There  were  many  flour  mills 
in  the  country  with  New  York  agents,  all  hustling 


HAGGLETON    TAKES    COMMAND      147 

for  new  business,  and  some  of  them  would  be  glad 
to  get  the  orders  of  the  combination,  even  with  a 
slight  risk. 

"Extraordinary!"  exclaimed  Phillip.  "It — it 
sounds  like  a  great  idea.  I  don't  see  why  it  hasn't 
been  tried  before." 

"  Because  no  one  with  brains  has  ever  bothered 
with  these  little  bakeshops.  Half  the  small  retail 
business  in  New  York  could  be  organized  like  that  if 
anyone  wanted  to  take  the  trouble." 

"  I  wonder  if  that's  true  ?  "  reflected  Phillip,  and 
then,  after  a  moment :  "  How  can  one  machine  knead 
the  dough  from  half  a  dozen  bakeshops  ?  " 

"  That's  easy,"  said  Haggleton;  "  we'll  have  a  horse 
and  truck." 

"  What,  to  carry  the  machine  ?  " 

"  No,  to  carry  the  dough.  Each  baker  will  mix  his 
own  flour  in  his  own  sponging  trough,  then  we'll  put 
the  troughs  on  a  truck  and  haul  them  to  the  place 
where  we  run  the  machine.  When  the  flour  is  kneaded, 
we'll  haul  them  back."  He  turned  to  Moran.  "  Any 
objection  to  that?" 

Moran  sneered.  "  Dough  on  a  truck — it  sounds 
crazy,  but — I  guess  it's  all  right." 

"  How  long  will  the  kneading  take  ? "  questioned 
Phillip. 

"  Ten  minutes  for  one  batch  of  loaves,"  answered 
the  baker — "  say  seven  hundred  pounds  of  dough. 
That's  with  the  machine.  It  would  take  a  man  an 
hour." 

"  You  see  what  we  save,"  remarked  Haggleton. 

"  Are  these  troughs  on  wheels  ?  "  pursued  Phillip. 


148  THE   BATTLE 

"  Sure,"  said  Moran. 

"  Allowing  half  an  hour  for  each  batch,"  calculated 
Haggleton — "  I  mean  for  kneading  and  hauling  both 
ways — that  gives  us  twenty-four  batches  in  twelve 
hours.  Say  four  thousand  loaves.  That's  eight  thou- 
sand pounds  of  flour;  four  tons  a  day,  or  twenty- 
eight  tons  a  week  for  the  combination.  There's  a 
nice  profit  in  that  when  you  get  it  by  the  car  load." 

"  It  sounds  good,"  mused  Phillip,  "  but — are  you 
sure  of  enough  bakeshops  for  the  combination  ?  " 

"  We'll  have  six  before  the  week's  out.  That  is, 
if  you  fix  it  so  that  we're  trusted  for  flour  by  the  car 
load.  You'd  better  get  busy." 

Phillip  turned  in  surprise. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Haggleton ;  "  we  look  to  you  to 
get  us  flour  direct  from  the  mills;  we're  going  to  cut 
out  the  jobbers'  profit." 

"  And  you're  going  to  risk  all  in  this  scheme  ?  " 

"What  are  we  risking?"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  Flour  has  a  permanent  value  and  so  has  a  kneading 
machine." 

"  Suppose  these  bakers  refuse  to  join  your  com- 
bination ?  " 

"Refuse?  Does  a  man  refuse  good  money  if  you 
offer  it  to  him?  Why,  within  ten  days  all  the  little 
bakers  around  here  will  be  offering  premiums  for  a 
chance  to  come  in  with  us." 

Gentle  had  watched  Phillip  no  less  closely  than  had 
Haggleton,  and  had  observed  with  dismay  the  stir- 
ring of  the  spirit  whose  quickening  his  mother  had 
dreaded — the  spirit  of  gain,  the  love  of  material  suc- 
cess of  self-seeking.  But  Haggleton  had  a  right  to  a 


HAGGLETON   TAKES   COMMAND      149 

fair  field  in  his  undertaking;  therefore,  the  old  diver 
contented  himself  with  ironically  congratulating  his 
ward  on  his  entrance  upon  a  business  life  which,  he 
doubted  not,  was  undertaken  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  better  and  cheaper  bread  to  the  poor. 

Phillip  smiled  uneasily,  but  Moran  furnished  a 
diversion. 

He  had  been  listening  with  increasing  hatred  and 
jealousy  to  this  fellow  Jackson,  "  down  and  out "  like 
himself,  but  who,  instead  of  joining  the  enemies  of 
the  capitalism  that  had  defeated  him,  was  already 
planning  to  rise  again,  and  who — bitterest  thought  of 
all — seemed  likely  to  succeed.  Now  he  began. 

Had  he — Moran — not  had  schemes  after  the  trust 
had  put  him  out  of  business?  Hundreds  of  them! 
Had  he  carried  them  out?  Of  course  not.  Why  not? 
Because  a  scheme  without  ample  capital  is  of  no  earth- 
ly use  to  anyone.  If  you^  propose  it  to  a  man  with 
money,  he  doesn't  give  you  the  money;  he  simply 
steals  the  scheme  from  you.  The  cards  are  stacked 
against  a  poor  man.  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  into 
another  violent  harangue  against  the  sins  of  capital, 
with  curses  for  all  rich  men  in  general,  and  for  John 
J.  Haggleton,  the  incarnation  of  predatory  wealth,  in 
particular.  Moran  was  a  fatalist,  because  fatalism 
is  a  dogma  that  saves  the  self-respect  of  those  who 
drift  unresisting  along  the  line  of  least  resistance. 
Gentle,  who  had  known  him  for  many  years,  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  uneasy.  Yes,  the  man  accepted  things 
as  they  were — while  snarling  at  them — but  some  day 
he  might  turn,  and  there  is  always  a  moment  when  the 
coward  is  more  dangerous  than  the  man  of  courage. 


ISO  THE   BATTLE 

Moran  was  talking  violence  of  late  with  increasing 
vehemence;  violence  in  general,  to  be  true,  to  be 
practiced  by  others,  but  still — who  knew  what  this 
harping  upon  sanguinary  plans  might  ultimately  sug- 
gest to  his  tired,  weakened  intellect?  He  now  con- 
cluded with  the  quite  familiar  statement  that  the  world 
would  never  go  right  until  they  had  hung  them  all ! 

Haggleton,  too,  was  studying  Moran  with  increasing 
attention.  It  was  quite  an  experience  to  hear  himself 
denounced  in  the  most  intemperate  epithets  before 
his  own  son.  But  Moran  had  already  been  assigned 
to  a  well-defined  place  in  Haggleton's  plans  for  the 
winning  of  Phillip's  love,  admiration,  and  confidence. 
Moran  was  to  be  used  as  an  object  lesson  at  the 
proper  moment.  He  was  to  be  tempted.  That  he 
would  fall,  abjure  his  theories,  forget  his  hatreds, 
forgive,  and  "  come  in,"  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 


CHAPTER   XIII 
ALL'S  FAIR  IN  LOVE 

MEANWHILE,  Haggleton  had  not  forgotten 
that  other  boast  of  his,  that  he  would  make  the 
neglected  Moran  home  as  clean  and  orderly  as  a  New 
England  farmhouse. 

It  had,  indeed,  undergone  a  marvelous  transforma- 
tion since  that  first  day,  when  he  asked  Jenny's  per- 
mission to  assist  her  a  little  in  "  redding  up."  It  had 
all  been  effected  at  the  cost  of  a  very  small  outlay  of 
cash,  but  of  a  very  liberal  expenditure  of  elbow  grease 
and  planning.  The  marble  clocks  had  been  sold,  the 
hatstand,  and  the  battered  iron  bedsteads.  They  had 
fetched  the  thirty  dollars  Haggleton  had  appraised 
them  at.  He  himself  had  conducted  the  negotiations. 

The  room  was  clean  as  a  New  England  farmhouse, 
and  as  orderly.  Jenny  took  renewed  pride  in  her  per- 
sonal neatness  now,  and  in  her  efficiency  as  a  house- 
keeper. 

The  iron  beds  had  been  replaced  by  sleeping  couches, 
neatly  covered;  the  cooking  stove  was  hidden  behind 
a  homemade  screen,  Joe's  handiwork;  and  all  around 
the  room  ran  shelves  with  cretonne  curtains,  behind 
which  were  kept  the  many  things  that  formerly  had 
littered  the  floor  and  been  piled  in  corners,  in  hopeless 
confusion.  Under  one  of  the  couches  a  tin  bath  tub 


152  THE   BATTLE 

was  snugly  put  away.  It  was  the  pride  of  all  but 
Moran,  who  looked  upon  it  with  disdain.  Yet  even 
he  was  growing  neater  in  his  ways,  under  the  com- 
pulsion of  his  new  environment. 

Jackson  was  doing  things,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  that.  Joe  watched  him  as  he  did  them,  with 
persistent  skepticism  that  had  to  change  its  ground 
constantly  as  improvement  after  improvement  was 
carried  out.  Gentle  was  deeply  interested,  Phillip  was 
enthusiastic,  Jenny  thought  her  new  boarder's  in- 
genuity as  a  housekeeper  wonderful.  She  forgot  the 
organized  work  that  he  succeeded  in  making  them  all 
contribute. 

But  brightened  though  her  life  now  was  in  many 
external  ways,  Jenny  passed  her  days  in  profound  un- 
happiness.  She  loved  Phillip,  oh !  how  she  loved  him ! 
She  knew  very  well  that  she  had  no  right  to  love 
him,  and  that  there  was  small  chance  that  he  would 
ever  love  her.  How  could  a  man  love  a  girl  from  the 
"  Haymarket "  ?  Still,  she  was  pretty,  very  pretty  at 
her  best,  and,  after  all,  Phillip  was  a  man ! 

The  taint  of  her  past  was  seared  into  her  soul.  She 
thought  that  she  knew  men  and  their  besetting  weak- 
ness! She  was  pretty!  She  knew  that  she  had  nice 
eyes  and  pretty  hands,  and  she  remembered  with  a 
mingling  of  shame  and  satisfaction  various  extrava- 
gant things  said  about  her  charms  by  men  who  had 
been  "  stuck  on  her." 

But  alas,  what  availed  her  beauty  if  it  made  no  ap- 
peal to  Phillip!  Ah,  that  was  the  point,  perhaps  it 
did  appeal  to  him.  Several  times  she  had  felt  his 
eyes  on  her  in  a  way  that — well,  she  could  not  be 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  153 

sure,  he  was  finer  than  most  men,  but  usually  such 
a  look  meant — no,  that  was  impossible !  She  was  the 
last  woman  Phillip  would  admire,  the  very  last.  Yet, 
the  other  day,  when  she  had  caught  his  hand  in  sud- 
den gratitude  for  a  helpful  word,  he  had  held  her 
hand  in  his  and  pressed  it,  perhaps  a  mere  pressure 
of  encouragement,  but,  after  all,  it  was  a  warm,  soft, 
little  hand  and  he  might  have  liked  it. 

Then  there  was  the  evening  when,  believing  her 
absent,  he  had  entered  her  bedroom.  How  he  had 
started  back  in  confused  apology,  although  there  was 
really  no  offense,  for  the  others  had  often  seen  her 
partly  undressed  and  taken  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Everyone  knew  there  was  no  privacy  in  a  tenement, 
so  why  make  such  a  fuss  over  a  glimpse  of  bare  arms 
and  shoulders?  The  harm  was  in  the  thought,  not 
in  the  fact,  and  it  occurred  to  Jenny  that  Phillip 
might  have  enjoyed  seeing  her  white  neck  and  shapely 
bust,  and  that  his  embarrassment  was  caused  by  a 
half-guilty  feeling  in  himself.  Ah,  if  that  were  true! 
If  she  could  only  know! 

These  reflections  had  gradually  led  her  to  conceive 
a  definite  plan;  she  must  talk  to  Phillip  alone,  she 
must  find  some  way  of  getting  him  to  the  flat  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  others  were  away.  How  could 
she  manage  this?  She  could  never  ask  him  herself — 
that  would  spoil  everything.  He  must  come  there  for 
some  reason  and  find  her  accidentally,  and  she  must 
be  prepared  for  him.  Joe  must  help  her  in  getting 
him  there. 

This  plan  was  busily  working  in  her  brain  one 
morning  shortly  after  the  launching  of  the  bakery 


154  THE  BATTLE 

trust,  as  she  and  Joe  were  setting  things  to  right  in 
the  room  and  discussing  Mr.  Jackson's  achievements. 

"  He  is  a  wonder,"  reflected  Jenny,  half  aloud. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  wonder,  all  right,  all  right." 

"  He's  been  here  only  a  few  weeks,"  continued 
Jenny,  "  and  look  at  the  place." 

"  The  wonder  is,"  commented  Joe,  "  that  Moran  lets 
him  do  it.  He  doesn't  love  him.  Guess  he  is  jealous 
of  him  because  he  can  do  things." 

He  pulled  down  the  sleeves  of  his  clean  shirt  over 
his  wrists  and  stroked  down  his  waistcoat.  Jackson 
had  shown  him  how  to  press  his  own  clothes,  explain- 
ing incidentally  that  thus  they  got  still  another  re- 
turn from  the  coal  they  burned.  Joe  was  beginning 
to  take  an  interest  in  his  apparel,  such  as  it  was,  in- 
stead of  neglecting  his  appearance  and  contenting  him- 
self with  dreaming  of  the  sporty  clothes  he  would  buy 
some  day.  He  was  waking  up  in  other  ways  as  well. 
Now  he  suddenly  startled  Jenny  with  a  momentous 
announcement : 

"  Say,  Jen,  beginnin'  to-day,  I  draw  ten  bones  a 
week  if  I  cut  out  pool  rooms." 

"  Ten  dollars  a  week  ?    How  ?  " 

"  In  the  bakery  scheme." 

"  The  bakery  scheme,"  repeated  Jenny  thoughtfully. 
"That's  what  Phil  is  talking  about  all  the  time 
now." 

"  Phil  listens  to  what  Mr.  Jackson  has  to  say,  all 
right.  He  takes  a  lot  of  interest  in  him.  He's  here 
most  of  the  time  he  isn't  on  his  own  job." 

"  Yes,  he's  here  most  of  the  time."  Jenny  looked 
at  the  diver's  picture  on  the  wall,  her  eyes  widening 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  155 

a  little.     Joe,  as  always  when  Phillip  was  discussed 
between  them,  watched  her  closely. 

"  You  remember  what  I  told  you,  Joe  ?  " 
"About  Phil?  Sure."  Joe  grinned.  "  Little  Jenny 
wants  him  all  to  herself.  And  if  she  can't  have  him 
for  herself — then  the  trained  nurse  lady  that  took  away 
our  dear  little  star  boarders  to  the  hospital  had  better 
look  out  for  herself.  How  are  the  kids  getting 
along?  " 

"  Benny  is  pretty  bad,"  Jenny  replied  absently.  Her 
mind  was  fixed  on  her  own  problem  in  life.  Joe, 
seeing  this,  repressed  some  humorous  reminiscences  of 
the  two  children  and  returned  to  the  subject  of  Mar- 
garet Lawrence. 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  he  observed ;  "  if  I  was 
Miss  Margaret,  you'd  not  see  me  driving  below  Twen- 
ty-third Street.     No,  ma'am.    I'd  make  brother  cough 
up.    He's  got  plenty  of  '  dough/  or  his  wife  has." 
"  How  do  you  know  that  she  has  a  rich  brother?" 
"  How  do  I  know?    Why,  you  knew  it  before  me." 
"  I  know  nothing  whatever  about  her." 
"  Why,  Jenny,  weren't  you  the  wet  nurse  for  his 
kid?" 

"Good  God!" 

Jenny  stared  at  him  with  startled  eyes,  then  shifted 
her  gaze  beyond  him.  Her  face  assumed  an  expres- 
sion of  wonder,  of  dismay,  then  gradually  changed, 
as  if  a  light  were  dawning  before  her.  She  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  restlessly,  gesticulating,  mutter- 
ing to  herself.  At  every  turn  she  took  she  looked  up 
at  Phillip's  picture.  Joe's  curiosity  got  the  better  of 
him. 


156  THE   BATTLE 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  You  say  Miss  Margaret 
is  the  sister  of  Howard  Lawrence,  up  in  Sixty-third 
Street,  near  the  Park,  the  one  with  the  rich  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes.    Didn't  you  know  it?  " 

"Sure?" 

"  Sure." 

Jenny  became  silent  again,  pursuing  some  thought. 
Joe  lighted  a  cigarette  and  awaited  developments. 
Here  was  something  new  and  unsuspected  from  her 
past,  the  past  that  she  kept  so  carefully  to  herself. 

But  what  was  it?  He  gave  a  hasty  side  glance  at 
the  possibilities  of  a  situation  in  life  which  somebody 
who  has  nothing  knows  something  worth  knowing 
about  somebody  who  has  plenty  of  "  dough."  .  .  . 

Joe  was  being  trained  by  Mr.  Jackson,  but  the  old 
Adam  was  still  strong  in  him.  Money  without  hav- 
ing to  work  for  it  was  still  his  ideal.  Blackmail 
was  not  repugnant  to  him  as  a  means  to  the  attain- 
ment of  that  desirable  end.  What  a  fool  Jenny  was, 
after  all! 

Suddenly  Jenny  stopped.  She  had  reached  a  de- 
cision. The  time  had  come  to  put  her  stratagem  into 
execution. 

"  Well,  what  about  it?  "  asked  Joe. 

"What  about  what?" 

"  About  Howard  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing — I — I — thought  how  strange  it  was — 
that — that  his  sister  should  be  down  here — among  us. 
I  heard  them  talk  about  her.  That's  all." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  thought  Joe  to  himself.  "  Not  by  a  long 
shot.  You  can't  fool  me." 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  157 

"What  time  is  it?"  The  girl's  voice  was  eager, 
hopeful,  victorious. 

"  The  factory  clock  says  half  past  ten ;  the  alarm 
clock  says  twenty  minutes  to,  but  that's  always  fast 
since  Mr.  Jackson  came  here." 

"  Listen,  Joe ;  be  serious,"  pleaded  Jenny.  "  You 
said  that  you  would  help  me.  Now  you  must.  I  want 
to  be  alone  with  Phillip — I  have  an  idea." 

"  Go  on,  my  romantic  sister-in-law.  I  will  help 
you." 

"  I  want  you  to  write  Phil  a  note,"  explained  Jenny 
feverishly.  "  Tell  him  that  you  are  in  great  trouble, 
and  must  see  him  at  once,  here.  Write  that  you  are 
waiting,  and  everything  depends  on  his  not  losing  a 
minute.  And  tell  him  to  come  alone;  do  you  under- 
stand— alone !  " 

"  Huh !  You're  no  fool,  Jenny."  Joe  looked  at  his 
sister-in-law  in  real  admiration. 

Poor  Jenny's  thoughts  flew  back  to  her  bitterly  won 
knowledge  of  the  lower  side  of  men,  and  to  the  loose, 
filmy  garment  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  her  trunk  on 
the  day  when  she  had  said  farewell  to  the  old  life — 
for  Phillip's  sake! 

She  was  beautiful;  she  knew  it!  He  should  see  it, 
know  it,  too.  Her  beauty  and  this  strange  discovery 
which  she  had  suddenly  made  concerning  Margaret 
Lawrence's  relationship —  She  held  two  cards  now; 
she  would  play  them  both — she  would  win ! 

Her  eyes  shone. 

Joe  read  her  thoughts  fairly  accurately.  Whatever 
it  was  that  she  knew  about  Howard  Lawrence  was  to 
be  used  as  an  argument  to  win  Phillip's  love,  or,  at 


158  THE   BATTLE 

least,  to  weaken  Margaret's  hold  upon  his  affection. 
He  immediately  set  to  work  to  formulate  some  scheme 
by  which  he  might  draw  some  advantage  for  himself 
from  this  secret,  even  if  he  did  not  know  what  it 
was.  So  he  began. 

"  Why  don't  you  write  the  note  yourself  ?  " 

"  Because  if  I  did  he  would  not  come  alone.  .  .  . 
Joe,  haven't  you  noticed  that  he  is  afraid  to  be  alone 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Can  you  blame  him  ?  " 

"  Be  serious ;  do  be  serious ;  help  me !  " 

"  All  right,  Jenny,  I  will,  sure  as  you  live.  But, 
say,  what  is  there  in  it  for  me?  I  am  not  askin'  you 
to  give  me  money — I'm  only  askin'  for  the  loan  of  a 
dollar  until  I  begin  to  draw  my  salary  from  Mr.  Jack- 
son." 

Jenny  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  Impatiently  she 
pulled  out  her  purse  and  handed  over  the  money. 

"  You  will  make  the  note  strong?"  she  asked  anx- 
iously. "  He  must  come." 

"Don't  you  worry.  Strong?  It  will  bring  tears 
to  his  eyes.  I'll  write  it  on  Salvation  Army  paper. 
That'll  fetch  him !  You  leave  that  to  me." 

He  was  already  at  the  door. 

"  This  is  my  last  flyer,  Jen,"  he  said.  "  After  this 
I  settle  down  to  business  with  Jackson — Jackson  & 
Caffrey." 

She  heard  him  galloping  down  the  hall,  stop,  and 
talk  to  somebody — Phillip?  Her  heart  gave  a  bound, 
but  no,  that  was  not  his  clear,  ringing  voice.  It  was 
Mr.  Jackson.  She  made  a  movement  of  impatience, 
then  a  wave  of  self-pity  came  over  her.  She  had  been 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  159 

so  near  the  fulfillment  of  her  plot;  she  was  keyed  up 
to  its  execution ;  everything  was  prepared,  and  now — 
she  must  wait  for  another  opportunity,  or  at  least 
make  one.  She  glanced  up  at  Phillip's  picture,  and  her 
eyes  dwelt  on  it  lovingly. 

Haggleton  entered  briskly. 

As  he  came  in,  he  surprised  Jenny's  look,  so  elo- 
quent, so  all-betraying.  There  were  few  things  that 
escaped  his  sharp  eyes.  Jenny's  past  he  had  divined 
long  ago. 

"  Morning,  Jenny,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Jackson." 

Haggleton  stood  beside  her,  looking  up  with  her 
at  the  portrait. 

"  He's  a  fine  young  fellow,  that  Phillip  Ames,  isn't 
he?" 

"Phil?  Indeed,  he  is.  But  if  anybody  tells  you 
that  he  is  easy  to  understand " 

"  Gentle  seems  to  understand  him." 

"  Gentle  thinks  he  does.  Say,  Mr.  Jackson,  you 
have  Gentle  worried,  all  right." 

"I?    How?" 

"  Oh,  with  all  this  bakeshop  business.  Before  you 
came,  it  was  nothing  but  the  wrongs  of  the  poor.  Now 
it's  nothing  but  money-making  schemes." 

Haggleton  looked  at  her  attentively.  She  was  about 
to  confirm  the  evidence  of  his  own  observations.  Per- 
haps he  had  made  even  more  progress  with  Phillip 
than  he  thought. 

"  You  think  Phillip  is  interested  ?  "  he  asked  cas- 
ually. 

"  Interested  ?     You  know  he  is  interested.     Why, 


160  THE   BATTLE 

yesterday,  Gentle  was  trying  to  talk  tenement-house 
reform  to  Phil,  but  he  hardly  listened.  He  was  fig- 
uring out  the  profits  of  that  electrical  machine  for 
kneading  bread." 

"Good!" 

Haggleton  looked  immensely  pleased.  He  knew  all 
this,  but  it  was  agreeable  to  hear  it  from  other  lips. 

"  I  never  saw  Phil  that  way  before,"  continued 
Jenny,  slowly,  as  if  pondering  some  problem  that  had 
suddenly  presented  itself. 

"  You  like  him,  don't  you?  " 

"  Everybody  likes  him.  I,"  she  hesitated,  "  /  love 
him." 

Jenny  was  still  pursuing  that  new  thought  of  hers. 
She  continued,  more  slowly,  as  if  feeling  her  way : 

"  Yes,  he  is  changed.  And  this  sort  of  encourages 
me." 

"How  so?" 

Haggleton  was  listening  very  closely  now. 

Jenny  stumbled  on.  She  was  not  used  to  analyzing 
her  impressions  and  putting  them  into  words.  Yet 
what  she  said,  gropingly,  was  a  revelation  to  the  mil- 
lionaire. 

"  You  have  made  me  see,"  the  young  woman  was 
saying,  "  that  there  are — two  Phillips — the  one  Gentle 
knows,  and  the  one  you  know." 

She  looked  up  at  the  picture  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  added,  with  a  contented  smile,  "  that's 
it.  Two  Phillips.  You  have  waked  up  the  one  that 
Gentle  does  not  know,  so  why  shouldn't  I " 

"  Two  Phillips  ?    What  a  strange  fancy." 

Haggleton  spoke  merely  to  make  her  go  on.     He 


"DO  YOU   REALLY  THINK   THAT   YOU   CAN    WIN   HIM   AWAY    FROM  THIS  GIRL  * 

Page  161. 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  161 

was  amazed  at  her  perspicacity  and  the  simplicity 
with  which  she  had  put  its  result  into  words.  Jenny 
did  not  heed  him.  She  was  still  following  the  thought 
to  its  personal  application,  the  one  that  interested 
her  most. 

"  I  tell  you  there  are  two  Phillips,"  she  insisted. 
Again  she  smiled  contentedly  and  with  a  dawning 
assurance.  Then  she  reached  her  conclusion: 

"  One  Phillip  loves  this  trained  nurse ;  what's  the 
matter  with  the  other  Phillip  loving  me  ? " 

She  smiled  up  confidingly  at  this  man  from  the 
outer  world,  upon  whom  she  had  learned  to  rely  im- 
plicitly in  so  short  a  space  of  time. 

Haggleton  felt  uncertain  of  his  course  for  once. 
Woman!  Did  one  ever  know?  Business  men  were 
the  same  the  world  over.  Anyhow,  one  could  guess 
at  what  they  would  think  and  do.  But  a  woman? 
Well,  well,  he  had  been  teaching  Jenny  many  things, 
but  now  she  suddenly  was  teaching  him. 

And  Phillip  was  his  son !  Margaret  Lawrence  he 
hardly  knew  as  yet,  but  what  he  knew  of  her  led 
him  to  expect  that  she  would  oppose  him.  Jenny 
had  confessed  her  secret  to  him  with  frank  simplicity. 
Here  was  a  new  complication!  Still  another  battle 
to  be  fought  over  Phillip ! 

He  began  to  feel  uneasy,  and,  to  gain  time,  asked: 
"  Do  you  really  think  that  you  can  win  him  away 
from  this  girl  ?  " 

The  answer  staggered  him.  Jenny  turned  her  large, 
dark  eyes  full  upon  him  and  asked  tranquilly : 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  you  can  win  him  away 
from  Gentle?" 


1 62  THE   BATTLE 

What  did  this  young  woman  know?  Not  that  he 
was  Phillip's  father,  of  course.  But  the  rest  of  it 
she  had  gauged  pretty  accurately  by  intuition,  no 
doubt.  And  intuition  had  told  her  how  to  apply  her 
knowledge  to  her  own  case. 

But  Jenny  was  already  off  on  another  tack.  She 
began  to  pay  her  compliments  to  her  hated  rival: 

"  She  makes  me  tired  with  her  airs — and  she's  not 
strong  for  you,  Mr.  Jackson,"  she  added  viciously. 
"  When  I  met  her,  I  saw  that  she  didn't  care  for  me — 
and  she  doesn't  know  anything  about  me.  You  do, 
though  I  never  told  you." 

"  I  have  guessed  a  little,  Jenny.  I  respect  you  all 
the  more  for  your  grit  in  returning  here." 

"  Do  you?  I'm  glad  of  that.  Well,  this  Miss  Mar- 
garet's not  so  much  of  a  much,  herself.  It  was  her 
brother  that  put  me  on  the  downslide." 

"Her  brother?" 

"  Yes,  the  brother  of  the  girl  Phillip  is  going  to 
marry — this  stuck-up  nurse!  I've  a  good  mind  to 
tell  Phillip." 

"  Her  brother  is  not  her  fault." 

"  No,  I  suppose  he's  mine !  "  Jenny's  tone  was 
bitter.  "  But  I  am  going  to  tell  Phillip.  I  wonder 
what  he  will  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  be  fair  ?  " 

"  All's  fair  in  love." 

Haggleton  looked  at  the  firmly  closed  mouth  and 
doubted  his  ability  to  persuade  her.  He  took  her 
hand,  however,  led  her  to  one  of  the  couches,  and 
made  her  sit  down  beside  him. 

"  You  know  I  like  you  very  much  ?  "  he  asked. 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN    LOVE  163 

She  nodded. 

"  And  I  admire  you,  Jenny,  for  your  pluck  and 
your  honesty.  You  are  a  good  woman,  notwithstand- 
ing what  is  behind  you — a  fine  woman.  Are  you 
going  to  do  a  mean  thing  and  disappoint  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  fair " 

"  It  is  not  fair  to  her ;  it  is  not  fair  to  Phillip ;  it 
is  not  fair  to  yourself.  It  is  mean,  underhanded." 

Jenny's  eyes  wavered. 

"  Is  it?  "  she  whispered. 

"  You  know  it  is.  You  will  lower  yourself  in 
your  own  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  all  of  us.  Don't 
you  desire  to  stand  well  in  this  girl's  opinion,  in 
Phillip's,  in  your  own,  in  Gentle's,  in  mine?  What 
would  you  win  by  it?  Phillip's  indignation — nothing 
more.  It  would  be  unworthy  of  you,  as  I  know  you 
and  like  you." 

Jenny  sat  silent  for  some  time,  tracing  patterns  on 
the  floor  before  her  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe.  Then 
she  looked  up  with  brave  resolution  in  her  grave 
eyes. 

"  I  won't  tell  him,  I  won't  tell  her,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  play  fair." 

"  I  knew  it,  my  dear ;  I  knew  you  would  not." 

"  I  do  it  only  for  your  sake." 

"  You  do  it  for  your  own  sake,  because  you  are 
the  fine  woman  I  knew  you  were." 

He  bent  forward  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the 
cheek.  She  gave  him  a  glance  full  of  pleased  grati- 
tude, and  furtively  wiped  her  eyes.  Then  she  sprang 
up. 

"  But  I  am  going  to  fight  for  my  other  Phillip  to 


164  THE   BATTLE 

the  end,"  she  declared  defiantly,  "  just  as  you  are 
going  to  fight  for  yours." 

"  That's  understood.  Now,  Jenny,  something  else. 
How  much  money  have  you  been  earning  ?  Sometimes 
four,  sometimes  five?  Very  well.  When  this  bake- 
shop  scheme  comes  off,  you'll  get  eight.  We've  bright- 
ened up  this  room;  we're  going  to  brighten  up  your 
life  and  your  father's " 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  brighten  up  my 
life,  Mr.  Jackson,  and  father — well,  he  has  no  hope 
for  the  future.  He  only  broods  over  the  past." 

"  His  past?    Ah,  yes,  he  failed  in  business?  " 

"  He  had  a  little  oil  business  in  Iowa.  Nothing 
big,  like  what  he  now  imagines  it  was,  but  enough 
to  keep  us  all  comfortably.  But  the  Trust  couldn't  let 
us  go  by.  John  J.'s  wagons  undersold  us  at  our  own 
door.  Now  father  is  a  helper  in  a  cellar  bakeshop." 

"  That  is  the  law  of  business,  Jenny.  The  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  it's  hard  to  prove  that 
to  those  who  don't  fit." 

She  got  up  and  moved  toward  her  room.  Phillip 
might  come  soon  now,  and  Mr.  Jackson's  departure 
was  only  being  delayed  by  their  talk.  She  had,  in- 
deed, the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  pick  up  his  hat 
as  she  closed  her  door,  but  before  he  could  reach 
the  hall  Gentle  entered  after  an  impatient  knock. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

HAGGLETON    WINS   A   POINT 

THE  old  diver  looked  discontented,  perturbed. 
"  Ah,  how  is  Mr.  Gentle,"  said  Haggleton,  put- 
ting down  his  hat  again,  "  and  what  brings  him  here? 
Well,  what's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Just  so.  I'll  come  right  to  the  point,  Mr. — Mr. 
Jackson  " — Gentle  glanced  around  him  cautiously — 
"  I  want  to  have  it  out  with  you  before  Phillip  comes 
in." 

"  I  expect  him  later  on  to  report  on  our  bakeshop 
organization." 

"  Ah !  And  you  ask  what  the  trouble  is !  There 
you  have  it!  We  have  nothing  but  bakeshops  here, 
nothing  but  schemes  for  making  money.  I  wanted 
you  to  study  the  problems  of  poverty  with  Phillip " 

"  Pardon  me.  That  was  not  our  arrangement.  Un- 
derstand, I  am  a  poor  man  hustling  for  a  living." 

"  A  poor  man !  It's  a  wonder  no  one  has  recog- 
nized you  yet !  " 

"  The  newspapers  say  I  am  away  on  my  yacht ;  no- 
body knows  that  I'm  down  here,  nobody  is  looking 
for  me.  If  one  of  those  smart  reporters  happened 
to  see  me,  he'd  say :  '  Hello !  Get  on  to  the  old  baker 
who  looks  like  John  J.'  " 

"  But  Phillip  knows." 

165 


i66  THE   BATTLE 

"  Phillip  will  keep  his  mouth  shut.  I  asked  him 
to,  and  he  said  he  was  interested  in  this  experiment 
and  would  do  nothing  to  hinder  it.v 

"  That's  the  trouble,  Mr.  Haggleton.  He's  too  much 
interested.  What's  the  use  of  this  experiment  ?  " 

"  The  use  of  it  is  that  it  will  help  me  to  win  my 
son.  And  he  is  worth  winning.  The  more  I  see  of 
him  the  better  I  like  him.  Besides,  it  has  another 
use,  as  an  object  lesson  to  all  you  kickers.  A  mighty 
good  lesson.  Look  at  this  room,  and  think  what  it 
was." 

Haggleton  looked  significantly  around  at  the  evi- 
dence of  his  driving  power.  His  eye  stopped  at  the 
two  windows  facing  the  East  River,  with  their  su- 
perb view  of  Brooklyn  Bridge.  An  idea  suddenly 
struck  him. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "  what's  the  matter  with 
joining  these  two  little  windows  into  one  large  ob- 
servation window?  We  shall  have  the  finest  view 
in  the  city." 

Gentle  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"What  about  the  landlord?"  he  asked. 

Haggleton  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said 
with  grim  humor: 

"  The  landlord  never  objects  to  improvements  in 
the  property  if  the  tenant  pays  for  them.  We'll  pay 
for  that  window.  We  can  afford  to.  By  to-morrow 
we  shall  control  an  organization  of  East  Side  bake- 
shops  that's  going  to  be  very  profitable.  Wait  till 
you  hear  Phillip's  report." 

"  Phillip  is  demoralized,"  grumbled  Gentle.  "  I 
hardly  know  him." 


HAGGLETON   WINS   A    POINT        167 

"  You  have  never  really  known  him,  Mr.  Gentle. 
You  are  just  getting  acquainted  with  him.  He's  my 
son" 

"  It's  a  temporary  infatuation,  nothing  more.  He  is 
fascinated  by  the  idea  that  John  J.  Haggleton  is  doing 
this  extraordinary  thing." 

"  Just  so,  Mr.  Gentle.  And  he  will  be  more  fas- 
cinated when  he  knows  why  John  J.  Haggleton  un- 
dertook to  do  it." 

"  And  why  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"  It  was  a  clever  move." 

"  No.  It  has  turned  out  to  be  a  clever  move.  I 
am  gaining  ground  with  the  boy  every  day,  but  that's 
not  why  I  am  doing  it.  I  am  sixty  years  old,  Mr. 
Gentle,  and  used  to  my  comforts.  Do  you  think  I'd 
stand  all  this  because  it  was  a  clever  move?  No,  sir. 
I  stayed  down  here  on  account  of  a  few  little  words 
that  my  son  fired  at  me.  Remember?  Maybe  you 
didn't  notice?  He  looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes  and 
said :  '  You've  got  to  do  your  loving  yourself.'  By 
God!  that  hit  me  hard.  I've  been  up  against  some 
tough  problems  in  my  life,  and  made  some  quick  de- 
cisions, but  I  never  did  anything  that  surprised  me  so 
much  as  this.  I'm  not  getting  sentimental.  I'm  going 
to  fight  you  for  all  I'm  worth,  Mr.  Gentle,  but  when 
you've  played  your  last  card,  and  told  my  boy  the 
worst  you  can  tell  about  me,  then,  anyhow,  he's  got 
to  know  that  his  father  came  down  here  and  lived 
in  a  tenement " 

He  stopped  a  moment,  then  added,  his  voice  husky 
with  deep  feeling: 


168  THE   BATTLE 

"  Because  his  father  wanted  to  do  his  loving  him- 
self." 

"  But  with  all  that,"  objected  Gentle,  "  you  would 
influence  him  to  be  hard  and  selfish." 

"  I  want  him  to  be  a  fine  business  man." 

"  And  I,"  rejoined  Gentle  slowly,  "  want  him  to  be 
a  fine  man." 

"  H'm !  So  far  as  that  goes,  I  don't  expect  my 
son  to  be  a  business  man  and  nothing  else.  I'm  glad 
to  have  him  study  these  problems  of  poverty,  and 
solve  them,  if  he  can.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  and  he 
be  reasonable.  Suppose  we  draw  up  a  plan  that  will 
satisfy  all  of  us.  Understand  now,  I  will  not  give  one 
dollar  for  sloppy,  sentimental  nonsense,  but  I'll  put 
up  one  million,  two  millions,  five  millions,  if  we  can 
work  out  some  sound  scheme  of  public  betterment." 

"  Five  millions  ? "  gasped  Gentle,  hardly  believing 
his  own  ears. 

"  Yes,  sir,  five  millions.  And  I  should  want  the 
work  of  carrying  out  such  a  scheme,  the  executive 
work,  to  be  in  your  hands.  You  are  honest,  and  you 
mean  to  do  right.  That's  a  whole  lot  in  these  days." 
Then  he  added  impressively :  "  It's  a  great  chance  for 
you." 

Gentle  reflected.  Yes,  it  was  a  great  chance  for 
him,  and — what  touched  him  far  more — a  great  chance 
for  the  poor.  What  could  he  not  do  with  so  much 
money?  Even  in  his  wildest  dreams  of  social  reform 
he  had  not  dared  to  think  of  such  a  sum  with  which 
to  carry  them  out. 

His  dreams  of  social  betterment!  Phillip  knew 
them  all.  He  had  discussed  them  with  the  lad  since 


HAGGLETON   WINS   A   POINT        169 

he  had  left  the  teens  behind  him.  They  would  work 
together.  But  then —  A  sudden  thought  struck  Gen- 
tle. He  looked  up  and  asked: 

"Then  Phillip  would  know  his  father?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  his  mother — what  about  her  ?  " 

Haggleton  was  ready  for  him.  He  never  made  a 
proposition  without  having  prepared  it  in  all  details, 
having  foreseen  all  objections.  So  now  he  answered 
readily,  watching  Gentle's  face  the  while: 

"  We  will  tell  Phillip  that  there  was  trouble  years 
ago  between  his  mother  and  me.  I'll  admit  that  I 
was  much  in  the  wrong — absorbed  in  business;  too 
keen  about  money.  That  ought  to  fix  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  with  Phillip.  It  is  too  vague.  He 
must  know  exactly  what  the  trouble  was." 

Haggleton  made  an  impatient  movement. 

"  Out  with  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  you  mean 
is  that  Phillip  must  see  that  statement?" 

"  I  mean  that  justice  must  be  done  to  a  noble  wom- 
an. He  never  knew  her,  he  will  learn  to  love  you 
and  believe  in  you.  He  might  in  the  end  consider 
that  she  must  have  been  in  the  wrong,  and  come  to 
hate  her.  And  if  it's  a  question  between  hating  his 
mother  and  hating  you " 

"  You'd  rather  have  him  hate  me." 

Haggleton  was  speaking  with  quick  decision,  as  if 
this  phase  of  the  problem  were  not  new  to  him.  He 
continued  with  growing  energy: 

"What  good  will  it  do  if  he  hates  me?  Will 
it  do  you  any  good  ?  Will  it  do  him  any  good  ?  Will 
it  do  his  dead  mother  any  good  ?  " 


170  THE   BATTLE 

He  rose  excitedly  and  fired  point-blank  at  his  con- 
fused opponent  his  clinching  question: 

"  Is  that  why  you  got  me  to  come  down  here  ?  Is 
that  why  I  am  living  in  a  tenement — to  have  my  son 
hate  me  ?  " 

Gentle  stammered,  sparring  for  time  to  see  his  way 
clear  in  his  dilemma.  But  Haggleton  was  Haggleton 
now,  who  never  let  up  on  his  man  after  he  had  got 
him  where  he  wanted  him.  He  pressed  upon  Gentle 
his  irrefutable  argument  with  restrained  vehemence: 

"  You  talk  about  my  wife  and  the  wrong  I  did.  I 
can't  atone  to  her,  can  I  ?  for  she  is  dead !  If  I  atone 
to  anybody,  I've  got  to  pay  to  the  living,  have  I  not? 
After  all,  that  was  what  his  mother  wanted,  to  have 
Phillip  do  good  with  my  money.  Now  he'll  do  more 
good  than  she  ever  dreamt  of.  I'll  put  aside — what 
did  I  say?  Five  millions?  I'll  put  aside  ten  millions 
for  a  great  battle  against  poverty !  " 

"  Ten  millions !  " 

".Ten  millions.  But  not  one  dollar  unless  I  get  my 
son." 

Gentle  was  moved.  How  this  master  of  money 
must  love  his  boy;  how  he  must  have  longed  for  him 
through  the  lonely  years,  arid  of  joy  in  spite  of  all 
their  golden  harvests ! 

"  I  am  surprised,"  he  began,  "  and  touched  to  hear 
you  talk  like  that,  but" — he  returned  in  perplexity 
to  the  problem — "  there  still  remains  your  wife's  state- 
ment." 

"  You  are  bound  by  your  promise  to  see  her  wish 
carried  out,  are  you  not?  "  argued  Haggleton.  "  Now, 
if  it  is  accomplished  without  the  statement " 


HAGGLETON    WINS   A    POINT        171 

"  I  see !    You  think  that  I  ought  to  destroy  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

Haggleton  saw  that  he  was  gaining  his  point,  as 
always.  He  followed  up  the  advantage  already  won 
with  still  another  argument. 

"  You  have  considered  yourself  and  my  dead  wife 
in  the  matter,"  he  pointed  out.  "  But  what  about 
Phillip?  Suppose  he  preferred  not  to  see  this  state- 
ment— suppose  he  hesitated?  You  would  advise 
against  it,  would  you  not  ?  " 

"  In  the  circumstances  I — I  think  I  would." 

Haggleton  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Then  we'll  leave  it  to  him,"  he  concluded,  "  but 
not  until  I  say  the  word." 

Gentle  nodded  assent.  The  practical  man  of  affairs 
had  shown  him  how  to  carry  out  the  dead  woman's 
wishes  without  unnecessary  harm  to  the  living.  That 
was,  after  all,  what  she  would  have  chosen  herself. 
And  the  person  most  directly  interested — Phil  himself 
— had  been  chosen  arbiter.  It  seemed  but  just. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Haggleton,  "  here  he  comes." 

Phillip  entered  with  buoyant  step,  his  eyes  shining, 
a  smile  of  triumph  on  his  lips. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said  in  a  vibrant  voice. 

"  Well,  did  you  succeed  ?  "  asked  Haggleton,  watch- 
ing Gentle  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  Indeed,  I  did,"  exulted  the  young  man.  "  I  got 
the  kneading  machine  on  credit,  with  a  hundred  dol- 
lars paid  down." 

He  took  the  papers  out  of  his  pocket  and  handed 
them  to  the  millionaire,  who  carefully  examined  them, 
nodding  approvingly. 


172  THE   BATTLE 

"  That's  a  good  contract,"  he  commented.  "  Well, 
that  machine  will  do  the  work  of  six  men." 

He  put  the  papers  away  neatly  on  one  of  the  shelves 
behind  the  muslin  curtains,  and  continued  in  a  brisk, 
business  tone: 

"  And  how  about  the  flour?  " 

"  The  Wisconsin  mills  will  furnish  it  to  the  com- 
bination at  fifteen  per  cent  off  the  jobbers'  price." 

Phillip  was  delighted  with  the  complete  success 
of  this,  his  first  business  venture. 

"  They  will  accept  thirty-day  notes  from  the  differ- 
ent bakers  ?  " 

"  Exactly.    No  trouble  about  it  at  all." 

Haggleton  turned  to  Gentle,  who  had  been  listening 
with  an  air  of  discontent. 

"  You  see,"  he  pointed  out,  "  we  shall  save  on  wages 
and  material.  We'll  do  a  bigger  business  because 
we'll  sell  better  bread — and  cheaper  bread."  Then 
he  turned  to  Phillip  again: 

'*-How  many  bakers  have  come  into  the  combina- 
tion ? "  he  asked. 

"  Six  so  far,  but  we  can  get  more." 

"  Get  more  ?  "  echoed  the  millionaire.  "  Why,  as  I 
said  the  other  day,  all  the  little  bakers  on  the  East  Side 
will  soon  be  tumbling  over  themselves  to  get  in." 

"  They've  got  to  come  in,"  began  Phillip  grimly, 
"  or " 

"  Or  what?  " 

It  was  Gentle  who  spoke,  and  there  was  a  world 
of  meaning  in  his  voice.  This  was  Phillip,  the  social 
reformer,  the  friend  of  the  poor?  Indeed,  the  boy 
had  drifted  far  away  from  his  teachings  in  these  few 


HAGGLETON   WINS   A   POINT        173 

days  under  Haggleton's  influence.  He  was  but  echo- 
ing his  words. 

Gentle  thought  that  he  saw  his  opportunity  of  re- 
claiming the  youth,  who  had  faltered  in  his  answer. 
So  he  repeated: 

"  They've  got  to  come  in  or — what  ?  " 

Phillip  looked  at  him,  then  his  eyes  wavered.  He 
saw  the  accusation  in  his  old  friend's  face,  but  he 
doggedly  finished  his  sentence. 

"  They've  got  to  come  in,  or  go  out  of  business." 

"  Phillip,"  said  Gentle  quietly  and  very  gravely, 
"  Phillip,  my  boy,  do  you  realize  that  you  are  building 
up  a  little  trust?  That  you  will  turn  men  out  of 
work?" 

The  young  man  looked  uneasy.  He  shifted  his 
eyes  from  Gentle's  face,  hesitated,  then  answered, 
turning  instinctively  to  Haggleton : 

"  A  few  men  will  be  thrown  out  of  work.  But  we'll 
give  better  bread  and  cheaper  bread  to  the  whole  East 
Side." 

Haggleton  immediately  came  to  his  assistance. 

"  Just  so,"  he  declared  confidently.  And  he  added : 
"  Incidentally,  I  will  prove  that  a  poor  man  like  Mo- 
ran  can  conquer  these  tenement-house  conditions  if 
he  has  any  gumption.  That's  what  I  started  out  to 
do,  and  I  am  doing  it." 

Phillip  looked  at  him  attentively. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  are  doing  it,  but,"  and  a  note 
of  wonder  came  into  his  voice,  "  why  are  you  doing 
it?" 

"  You'll  know  that  before  long,  Phillip,"  answered 
the  millionaire  cheerily.  "  The  point  is  now  that  in 


174  THE   BATTLE 

a  month  we  shall  have  a  prosperous  business  going 
on  here." 

He  looked  around  him,  considered  a  moment,  then 
decided : 

"  We'd  better  take  that  empty  flat  across  the  hall 
for  sleeping  rooms;  we  shall  need  this  one  for  of- 
fices." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Phillip,  "  it  looks  as  if  we  shall." 

Haggleton,  having  proved  to  Gentle  the  strength 
of  the  influence  he  had  already  acquired  over  Phillip, 
now  proceeded  to  increase  it  by  drawing  his  attention 
to  some  other  results  of  his  activity. 

"  In  a  little  while,"  he  asserted,  "  you'll  see  Joe 
Caffrey  at  work  in  a  clean  shirt,  with  pool  rooms  cut 
out,  and — Moran  will  stop  kicking." 

"  I  doubt  that,  Mr.  Haggleton,"  said  Gentle  dryly. 

"  As  long  as  a  man  has  no  money,  he's  a  kicker  about 
the  wrongs  of  the  poor,  Mr.  Gentle.  Give  him  some, 
and  he  stops  kicking.  That's  why  socialists  are  poor." 

"  Some  socialists  are  rich,  none  the  less." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Haggleton,  with  immeasur- 
able contempt — "  parlor  socialists,  but  they  never 
earned  the  money  themselves.  And  I  notice  that  they 
hang  on  to  it,  all  right." 

Phillip  felt  a  pang  of  compunction.  He  came  to  the 
assistance  of  his  old  friend. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  turning  to  Haggleton,  "  the  main 
point  is  that  things  in  this  country  are  not  fair  between 
the  rich  and  the  poor." 

Haggleton  took  him  up.  Here  was  another  op- 
portunity to  be  improved  upon. 

"Not   fair?"  he  asked.     "I'll  tell  you  how   fair 


HAGGLETON    WINS   A    POINT        175 

they  are.  There  isn't  a  poor  man  in  this  country 
that's  any  good  who  can't  better  himself  and  leave 
his  children  comfortable.  And  if  those  children  are 
any  good  they  can  leave  their  children  rich.  Which 
is  more  than  you  can  say  of  any  other  country  in 
the  world." 

"  But  the  big  industries,  the  trusts — what  about 
them  ?  "  asked  Gentle. 

"  They've  built  up  the  country,  sir." 

"  At  the  expense  of  the  people,"  persisted  Gentle. 

Haggleton  snapped  his  fingers. 

"  They're  in  business  to  make  money,"  he  asserted. 

"Oh,  you  admit  that?"  asked  Phillip. 

"  Certainly,  I  admit  it.  It's  true.  It  always  has 
been  true ;  it  always  will  be  true." 

Haggleton,  who  had  been  sitting  at  the  table,  got 
up  and  faced  Phillip  and  Gentle,  who  were  standing 
behind  it.  The  millionaire  felt  that  the  moment  had 
come  for  a  decisive  statement  of  the  other  side  of  the 
case.  He  spoke  sternly,  striking  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand  with  the  fingers  of  his  right. 

"  Look  here,"  he  began.  "  You  can't  expect  one 
class  to  fight  the  battles  of  another  class.  Why  should 
they?  Do  you  fight  our  battles?  If  you  want  us  to 
run  our  railroads  and  mines  and  factories  in  a  cer- 
tain way,  it's  up  to  you  to  make  us  do  it.  You've 
got  numbers  and  votes ;  we've  got  money  and  organi- 
zation. Well,  there  you  are.  It's  a  fight,  class  against 
class.  You  want  to  get  rid  of  your  grievances ;  we 
want  to  keep  our  privileges.  Now  go  ahead,  make 
laws,  inspect  our  books,  learn  our  secrets,  put  us  in 
jail,  do  something,  anything.  But  if  you  can't  do 


1 76  THE   BATTLE 

anything,  keep  still;  take  your  medicine  and  don't 
come  whining  to  us  to  play  your  game.  We  will  never 
do  it,  never.  We  are  too  busy  playing  our  own." 

He  glanced  from  Phillip  to  Gentle,  fixing  the  latter 
with  a  challenging  stare. 

The  three  men  stood  there,  silent,  pondering,  but 
before  the  discussion  could  be  continued,  Moran 
stormed  into  the  room.  He  was  hot,  disheveled,  his 
eyes  glittered,  and  his  speech  was  incoherent  with 
rage. 

"  Here,  you,  Jackson,"  he  shouted,  "  I  want  to  see 
you.  Do  you  think  that  you  can  grab  the  whole 
bakeshop  business  of  the  East  Side  and  throw  hun- 
dreds of  men  like  me  out  of  work?  " 

"Men  like  you?"  asked  Phillip.  There  was  con- 
tempt in  his  tone.  Gentle  again  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously. 

"  Yes,  men  like  me !  "  raved  Moran.  "  My  boss 
has  joined  your  combination,  and  I've  got  notice  to 
quit.  It's  an  outrage !  " 

He  turned  upon  Haggleton  and  continued,  his  voice 
rising  to  a  scream: 

"  And  as  for  you,  Jackson,  you — you " 

"  Hold  on !  "  commanded  Phillip  with  sudden  au- 
thority. Gentle  had  laid  a  retaining  hand  on  Moran's 
arm. 

"  Let  me  talk  to  him,"  said  Haggleton.  Here  was 
a  chance  to  prove  what  he  had  just  been  saying. 

Moran  contained  himself  with  difficulty. 

"  See  here,  Moran,"  the  millionaire  began  briskly, 
in  his  most  businesslike  manner,  "  this  combination 
is  a  good  thing." 


HAGGLETON   WINS   A    POINT        177 

"  It's  a  damned  monopoly ' 

The  baker's  assistant  started  on  another  speech  full 
of  abuse  of  economic  conditions  in  general,  working 
around  to  the  particular  grievance  of  the  moment. 

"  You  watch  him,"  said  Haggleton,  dryly,  to  Gentle. 
"  Now  listen."  Then  he  continued  aloud : 

"  Look  here,  Moran,  we'll  make  better  bread  and 
cheaper  bread  for  the  whole  East  Side." 

Moran,  who  had  stopped  for  a  moment,  continued 
his  harangue  in  his  loudest  voice  and  his  best  agitator's 
manner : 

"  Yes,  and  you'll  ruin  homes  in  every  street ;  you'll 
starve  little  children;  you'll  break  the  hearts  of 
struggling  mothers." 

Better  and  better,  thought  Haggleton.  The  man 
was  working  himself  up  to  a  climax  of  denunciatory 
fury.  The  anticlimax  he,  himself,  had  already  pre- 
pared would  be  all  the  more  telling.  So  he  continued 
persuasively : 

"  We  are  going  to  make  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Blood  money !  "  shrieked  Moran.  "  Any  man 
who  would  touch  a  penny  of  it  is  a  low  hound !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  you  feel  that  way."  Haggleton's  voice 
sounded  disappointed.  "  I  had  picked  you  out  as  as- 
sistant manager." 

Gentle  suddenly  became  very  attentive.  He  saw 
what  was  coming. 

"  Assistant  manager !  "  repeated  Moran  in  a  voice 
that  suddenly  became  very  mild. 

"  With  a  salary  of  eighteen  dollars  a  week  to  begin 
with,"  added  Haggleton. 

"  Eighteen  to  begin !  "    Moran  was  staggered. 


178  THE   BATTLE 

"  But,  of  course,"  the  millionaire  went  on,  regret- 
fully, "  I  can't  ask  you  now  to  take  it,  knowing  the 
way  you  feel.  You  would  regard  it  as  blood  money." 

Moran  glanced  at  Phillip,  at  Gentle,  at  Haggleton. 

"  Yes — of  course,"  he  stammered,  "  that  is  to  say 
— perhaps — come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  know  as  I 
would " 

"  But  consider,"  persisted  the  tempter,  "  you  would 
always  be  thinking  of  those  struggling  mothers  and 
starving  children." 

"  Well,  cheaper  bread  would  be  a  blessing,  and — 
as  assistant  manager  I  could  make  things  easier  for 
them." 

"  Then  you  accept?  " 

"  Yes,  I  accept.    I  have  to." 

"Very  well,  then.  Go  down  to  the  Madison  Street 
bakery  and  help  set  up  the  electric  kneading  machine." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Moran  turned  with  alacrity,  touched  his  hat,  and 
went  out. 

"You  see,"  commented  Haggleton,  "it's  as  easy  as 
that." 

There  was  grim  amusement  in  his  eyes. 

Gentle  did  not  answer,  but  shook  his  head.  He 
was  troubled  in  his  mind.  It  occurred  to  him  that, 
perhaps,  he  might  teach  Haggleton  an  object  lesson 
in  his  turn,  and  regain  his  influence  over  Phillip,  at 
least  to  some  extent.  So  he  said: 

"  I  forgot  those  tenement-house  calls,  my  boy." 
Turning  to  Haggleton,  he  added :  "  Perhaps  you  would 
like  to  go  with  us  ?  "  But  the  millionaire  replied  with 
barely  concealed  impatience : 


HAGGLETON   WINS   A    POINT        179 

"  There  is  no  use  in  these  tenement  calls." 
"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  protested  Gentle. 
Quietly,  without  letting  either  Phillip  or  Gentle 
know  it,  Haggleton  had  continued  his  investigations 
of  this  tenement-house  problem  himself  and  achieved 
a  great  deal  in  a  little  time,  thanks  to  his  marvelous 
organizing  intelligence.  His  offer  of  ten  millions  for 
the  cause  to  Gentle  had  not  been  made  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment.  Still,  considering  it  wise  not  to  leave 
Phillip  just  then  to  the  unopposed  influence  of  Gentle, 
he  silently  took  up  his  hat  and  accompanied  them  upon 
their  mission. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED    HIM 

JENNY,  who  had  been  hidden  in  her  little  room 
during  this  long  interview,  waiting,  watchful  for 
an  opportunity  to  see  Phillip  alone,  perhaps  to  detain 
him  when  the  other  two  should  leave,  now  entered  the 
larger  apartment  swiftly,  and  darted  to  the  window. 

Where  were  they  going,  these  three?  Eavesdrop- 
ping was  not  one  of  her  shortcomings.  She  had  heard 
nothing,  she  only  knew  that  Moran  had  been  there, 
that  he  had  stormed  and  raved  in  his  most  impas- 
sioned revolutionary  manner,  and  that  the  voice  of 
Jackson  had  magically  calmed  him.  She  had  heard 
him  depart,  and  clump  hastily  through  the  hall  and 
down  the  stairs.  Then  the  three  left  behind  had  re- 
sumed their  talk,  which  had  continued  to  reach  her 
inattentive  ear  as  a  confused,  indistinguishable  mur- 
mur. Then  they,  too,  had  left. 

Where  were  they  going?  She  looked  out  of  the 
window  discreetly,  for  fear  of  being  seen.  Would 
Joe  carry  out  his  promise?  She  had  paid  him  for  his 
service,  and  in  such  cases  he  always  kept  his  word. 
It  was  one  of  the  few  virtues  she  had  been  able  to 
discern  in  him. 

As  she  looked,  she  saw  a  boy  run  out  of  a  door- 
way, speak  to  Phillip  and  give  him  a  note.  She  did 
not  stop  for  more,  but  turned  back  into  the  room. 

1 80 


THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED   HIM        181 

She  was  all  prepared  for  him.  She  had  taken  off 
her  dress  and  put  on  a  soft  wrapper  of  yellow  and 
black,  with  her  daintiest,  flimsiest  things  underneath 
and  just  a  touch  of  perfume.  She  had  let  down  her 
thick  hair  and  left  it  hanging  over  her  shoulders 
in  alluring  disorder.  Then  she  had  opened  a  bottle 
of  gold-dust  fluid  and  carefully  applied  little  dabs  of 
it  to  her  arms  and  shoulders,  where  it  remained  in 
shining  blotches.  To  do  this  she  unloosed  her  wrap- 
per and  when  she  had  finished  she  left  it  open  at  the 
throat.  She  certainly  looked  her  best  thus;  she  was 
undeniably  a  handsome  woman. 

Poor  Jenny !  She  built  such  high  hopes  upon  this 
primitive  ruse  of  hers,  this  trap  of  her  physical  at- 
tractions laid  for  the  man  whom  she  worshiped  and 
would  have  served  so  loyally  and  with  a  devotion 
that  asked  so  little  in  return.  This  was  what  life  had 
taught  her !  The  dregs  through  which  she  had  waded 
clung  to  her.  She  believed  that  through  them  she 
could  attain  her  high  purpose.  For  her  love  for 
Phillip  was  really  high  and  true,  compacted  of  the 
noblest  aspirations,  the  best  of  all  of  her. 

She  would  not  stoop  to  the  ignoble  use  of  her  knowl- 
edge of  Margaret's  relationship — Mr.  Jackson  had 
saved  her  from  that  baseness,  but — all  was  fair  in 
love,  and  she  was  beautiful.  That  weapon,  given  her, 
she  would  employ! 

She  went  into  her  bedroom,  where  she  had  already 
put  things  in  order.  She  wanted  Phillip  to  find  her 
there  when  he  arrived,  and  so  it  happened,  for  pres- 
ently the  door  opened  and  she  heard  a  man's  step. 

"Who's  there?"  she  called. 


1 82  THE   BATTLE 

"  It's  I,"  replied  Phillip,  coming  toward  her.  "  Hel- 
lo, are  you  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  show  of  confusion, 
"  I — er — I  was  fixing  up  my  room  a  little.  I  did 
not  expect  you  back." 

She  came  forward  in  her  room,  walking  rather 
unsteadily.  "  I  don't  feel  well,"  she  said.  "  It  is  a 
sort  of  dizziness,  it  isn't  much,  only — "  She  put 
her  hand  to  her  eyes  and  half  leaned  against  the 
wall. 

"  You're  weak  and  faint,"  exclaimed  Phillip  in 
alarm.  "  Here,  you  must  lie  down."  He  helped  her 
over  to  the  couch  and  fixed  the  pillows  for  her. 

"  Has  Joe  Caffrey  been  here  ?  "  asked  Phillip. 

"  No." 

"  He  wants  to  see  me.    He  sent  me  a  message." 

Jenny  sighed  faintly. 

"  Have  a  little  brandy  ?  "  continued  Phillip. 

"  No,  I  hate  it." 

"  Want  a  blanket  over  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  too  hot  already.  Maybe  I  have  fever." 
She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Your  hand  is  warm,"  said  Phillip,  "  but — it  seems 
all  right  to  me." 

He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  at  her  bedside. 

"  I'm  so  unhappy,  Phil,"  murmured  Jenny.  "  What 
can  I  do?  Tell  me,  Phil.  I'm  so  glad  you  happened 
in.  You're  the  only  one  I  can  turn  to  and — oh,  it's 
awfully  hard." 

"  I  know  Jenny,  but " 

"  I've  tried  to  do  right,  haven't  I  ?  I've  taken  any 
old  kind  of  work  that  turned  up,  and  God  knows  five 


THE   WOMAN    TEMPTED   HIM        183 

dollars  a  week  isn't  much  for  a  girl  who's  lived  as 
I  have.  Why,  five  dollars  a  day  wouldn't  pay  for  the 
flowers  I  used  to  get!  Haven't  I  come  down  here 
and  lived  in  this  rotten  place  and  never  kicked? 
Haven't  I  done  the  cooking  and  cleaning  and — and 
tried  to  be  cheerful  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  have,  Jenny,  you've  been  fine,"  said 
Phillip  earnestly. 

"  Sometimes  I  ask  myself  what's  the  use  of  it  all  ? 
Where's  the  sense  in  my  trying  to  be  decent?  Who 
cares  ? " 

"  We  all  care." 

Jenny  looked  at  him  and  smiled  wistfully.  "  Do  you 
care,  Phil?  You  know  I  did  it  all  for  you." 

"  You  did  it  because  it  was  right,  Jenny,"  he  said 
gravely,  but  he  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable  under  her 
pleading  eyes. 

"  Phil,"  she  went  on,  "  you  don't  know  how  hard 
my  work  is.  This  gold-dust  stuff  seems  to  eat  right 
into  me  and  I  can't  get  it  off.  See  here,"  and  throwing 
back  her  wrapper,  she  showed  him  the  marks. 

He  studied  her  white  neck  with  a  confusion  of 
emotions.  He  pitied  this  girl  and  wished  to  help  her, 
but  she  was  young  and  comely  and  was  lying  here 
before  him  apparently  unconscious  that  her  body  was 
partly  uncovered.  And  he  was  neither  a  doctor  nor 
a  priest. 

"  How  strangely  you  look  at  me,  Phil,"  she  whis- 
pered, and  drew  the  wrapper  about  her  as  if  in  em- 
barrassment. But  inwardly  she  rejoiced. 

They  were  silent  for  a  time  and  then  Jenny  sighed 
again. 


1 84  THE    BATTLE 

"  Phil,  do  you  ever  think  of  the  old  days — before 
I  was  married?  You  were  fond  of  me  then,  weren't 
you?  You  told  me  so  and — you  said  I  was  pretty. 
Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  You  were  pretty,"  he  answered  unsteadily,  "  and 
— and  you  are  pretty." 

How  his  pulses  throbbed! 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  brightened,  "  and  Phil,  you  kissed  me 
once.  And  you  said — I  remember  everything  you 
said." 

"What  did  I  say?"  he  faltered. 

"  You  said  my  lips  were  the  sweetest  things  you 
ever  tasted." 

Hardly  had  she  spoken  the  words  when  she  re- 
gretted them,  for  a  sudden  change  in  Phillip's  face 
told  her  she  had  gone  too  far.  She  had  made  him 
think  of  other  lips,  of  another  girl  and — yes,  his 
mind  was  on  Margaret  now,  and  he  rose  in  sudden 
agitation. 

"  I  must  go,  Jenny,"  he  said,  "  I — I  can't  wait." 

"  Not  yet,  Phil,"  she  begged,  and  swiftly  changing 
the  ground  of  her  attack,  she  spoke  of  her  life  with 
such  humble  sadness  that  Phillip,  touched  and  reas- 
sured, sat  down  again.  It  seemed,  she  said,  as  if 
an  evil  star  hung  over  her.  Why  should  George  have 
been  killed?  If  he  had  been  spared  her  everything 
would  have  been  different.  And  if  they  hadn't  taken 
away  her  little  baby  and  let  it  die,  then  still  she  would 
have  had  something  to  live  for.  Her  voice  broke 
as  she  spoke  of  her  baby.  And  if  that  selfish  woman 
hadn't  left  her  husband  alone  then — perhaps,  even 
then  she  would  have  kept  straight.  But  things  had 


THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED   HIM        185 

been  too  hard  for  her,  she  hadn't  had  a  fair  chance 
and —  Suddenly  she  turned  to  Phillip  with  her  whole 
soul  in  her  eyes :  "  Tell  me,  Phil,  do  you  think  me  a 
wicked  girl  ?  " 

"  No,  Jenny,  I— I  don't." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  so  kind, 
so  wise.  You  understand  how  that — that  thing  hap- 
pened when  I  was  a  nurse?  You  see  how  a  man 
might  be  tempted,  don't  you,  Phil,  even  a  good  man, 
just  by  being  near  a  woman?" 

"  Yes,  I— I  see." 

"  Sit  closer  to  me — here.  People  get — lonely,  don't 
they,  Phil?" 

Her  eyes  were  burning  on  him. 

"  Ye— es." 

"  And — want  to  be  loved,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  I — I  suppose  so." 

"  And — sometimes  petted  ?  " 

There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice  that  moved  him 
as  nothing  ever  had.  He  could  not  speak,  he  could 
only  look  at  her,  at  her  swimming  eyes  and  her  red, 
half-parted  lips.  She  trembled  with  the  love  that 
scars  and  sears  but  will  have  its  way.  There  was  no 
more  acting,  no  thought  but  this,  that  the  man  she 
wanted  was  there  at  her  bedside,  bending  over  her, 
swept  with  the  fires  of  youth  and  strength.  For  a 
moment  she  met  his  half-consenting  eyes,  and  then 
with  swift  passion  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  drew 
him  down  to  her.  He  tried  weakly  to  free  himself, 
but  her  soft  hair  brushed  his  cheek,  her  knees  clung 
against  his,  he  breathed  the  perfume  of  her  body,  he 
felt  the  quick  beating  of  her  heart. 


1 86  THE   BATTLE 

"  I  love  you !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  Oh,  how 
I  love  you !  " 

She  kissed  him  full  on  the  lips  again  and  again  in 
complete  surrender  to  her  feeling  and  he  returned 
her  kisses. 

Then  at  this  moment  of  peril,  when  everything  was 
forgotten  except  the  one  overwhelming  fact  that  he 
was  a  man  and  she  a  woman,  when  he  was  about  to 
strain  her  fiercely  in  his  arms — then  suddenly  some 
power  in  him  or  outside  of  him  cleared  his  brain, 
drunk  with  desire,  and  in  a  flash  of  sober  vision  he 
saw  Margaret,  his  Margaret,  looking  at  him  with  grave 
reproof.  He  hesitated,  he  wavered,  then,  with  sud- 
den revulsion,  broke  away  from  her  clinging,  strain- 
ing, inviting  arms  and  thrust  her  violently  back  against 
the  pillows. 

"  What  a  dog  I  am !  "  he  exclaimed  bitterly ;  "  what 
a  contemptible  dog !  " 

Jenny,  frightened,  disillusioned,  humiliated,  hurt, 
rose  from  the  bed  and  stood  looking  at  him  with 
blanched  lips.  Instinctively  she  closed  her  wrapper. 

Phillip,  breathing  heavily,  was  gazing  with  unsee- 
ing eyes  at  the  array  of  bottles  on  the  girl's  bureau. 
One,  standing  apart,  near  the  edge,  as  if  it  had  been 
but  recently  used,  caught  his  attention.  It  was  the 
little  flask  of  liquid  gold. 

The  truth  suddenly  flashed  upon  him.  She  had 
been  playing  a  part,  she  had  tricked  him  here  to — 
to  destroy  him. 

And  now  a  wave  of  anger  swept  through  him  so 
that  his  hands  tightened  hard  on  her  shoulders. 

"  You  little  devil !  "  he  said  hoarsely. 


THE   WOMAN    TEMPTED   HIM        187 

"  Phil !  "  she  cried  in  fear. 

He  stood  over  her,  his  eyes  black,  his  lips  white 
with  anger. 

"  Let  me  see  those  stains,"  he  ordered,  and,  as  she 
cowered  before  him  drawing  the  wrapper  tight  about 
her,  he  seized  it  roughly  and  tore  it  open,  exposing 
her  neck  and  shoulders.  Then  he  rubbed  his  fingers 
over  the  stains. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so!  You  said  it  wouldn't  come  off. 
It  comes  off  quite  easily.  You  were  lying  to  me !  " 

"  No,"  she  said  weakly. 

He  took  the  bottle  from  the  bureau  and  opened  it. 

"  I  say  you  were  lying.  It's  the  same  stuff.  You 
brought  it  here;  you  put  it  on  your  shoulders;  you — 
you " 

He  checked  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  didn't  mean  any 
harm." 

"No  harm!"  he  shouted.  "My  God!  What  do 
you  call  harm?  Because  you  hate  the  girl  I  love,  be- 
cause you  have  no  decency,  you  get  me  here  by  tricks 
and  lies  to — ah,  there's  another  thing.  Joe  Caffrey 
never  sent  that  note !  " 

"  He  wrote  it,  Phil." 

"  You  made  him  write  it.  Yes,  you  did.  If  he 
wanted  to  see  me  he'd  be  here,  wouldn't  he?  You 
wanted  to  see  me,  to  get  me  here — alone.  That's  why 
you  put  on  these  gewgaws.  You  made  up  your  mind 
in  cold  blood  that  you'd  raise  the  devil  with  me 
and " 

Again  he  checked  himself  and  stood  there,  terrible 
in  his  anger.  She  tried  to  speak,  she  tried  to  plead 


188  THE   BATTLE 

with  him,  but  the  words  died  on  her  lips.  She  had 
seen  Phillip  deeply  stirred,  but  never  like  this.  She 
knew  that  he  was  capable  of  anything — anything  now 
if  she  provoked  him  further. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  he  spoke  in  a  low 
tone  that  quivered  with  the  effort  he  had  put  upon 
himself. 

"  Do  you — do  you  own  up  ?  " 

She  dared  not  lie  again.    "  Yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

She  followed  him  imploringly  out  into  the  living 
room. 

"  Phil,  one  word." 

"Well?" 

"  I— I  did  it  because " 

"  You  did  it  because  you're  a  bad  girl ;  you're  bad 
all  through." 

Jenny  visibly  shrank  under  his  words.  Despair 
mastered  her,  but  it  found  expression  in  outward  calm. 

"  I  am  bad  all  through  ?  "  she  said  quietly.  "  All 
right.  I  got  you  here  by  a  trick  ?  That's  true.  And 
I  hate  the  girl  you  love.  You  bet  I  do !  " 

She  looked  at  him  narrowly. 

"  But  what  are  you  ? "  she  suddenly  flamed  up. 
"  You  are  a  loyal  lover ;  you  are  a  preacher  of  reform ; 
you  are  a  lot  of  things,  Phillip  Ames,  but  you  held  me 
in  your  arms  and  you  kissed  my  mouth !  " 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  added : 

"  And  you  liked  it !    You  liked  it !  " 

There  was  triumph  in  her  voice  and  accusation,  the 
scorn  of  the  woman  for  the  man  who  is  weak  and 
places  the  blame  on  her. 

Phillip  sank  into  a  chair,  crushed,  burying  his  face 


THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED   HIM        189 

in  his  hands.  It  was  all  true  what  she  had  said,  every 
word  of  it!  He  who  had  believed  himself  so  strong, 
had  been  proved  weak  as  water.  How  could  he  ever 
face  Margaret  again?  Ah,  well,  that  was  all  over. 
He  would  plead  for  her  forgiveness,  but 

Jenny  seeing  him  thus,  forgot  herself,  her  defeat, 
her  loss,  in  the  desire  to  console  the  beloved  one.  She 
had  pleaded  for  a  brother's  kiss  in  order  to  win  a 
lover's.  It  was  a  sister's  feeling,  pure,  compassionate, 
unselfish,  that  now  impelled  her. 

She  went  to  him,  knelt  beside  him,  placed  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders  and  compassionately  whispered  his 
name. 

But  again  he  repulsed  her.  He  rose,  went  to  the 
window,  opened  it,  and  said,  with  hatred  in  his  voice : 

"  Don't  speak  to  me." 

The  tone,  even  more  than  the  words,  drove  her  to 
a  desperate  determination.  She  had  lost — she  had  lost 
his  friendship,  his  compassion ;  she  had  gained  nothing 
but  his  contempt,  his  hatred.  All  was  over  for  her; 
there  was  nothing  left  to  live  for.  Why  struggle,  then, 
with  poverty;  why  deny  herself  everything? 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it." 

Phillip's  voice  had  all  the  concentrated  bitterness  of 
the  man  who  echoes  the  weak  plea  of  the  first  man: 
The  woman  tempted  me. 

"  Then  it's  all  off,"  Jenny  said  briskly.  Her  mind 
was  made  up. 

She  went  to  her  room,  returned  in  a  moment  with 
hat  and  cloak,  put  them  on,  went  to  the  door,  opened 
it,  turned,  and  said  significantly : 


IQO  THE   BATTLE 

"  I  am  going.  I  won't  trouble  you  any  more. 
Good-by." 

Phillip  did  not  answer.  He  merely  stared  at  her, 
not  grasping  the  horrible  meaning  of  her  action  and 
her  words. 

Jenny  waited  a  moment;  she  still  had  a  lingering 
hope.  But  Phillip  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  So  she 
said  her  final  farewell,  pleadingly: 

"  I  am  sorry,  Phil — but  I — I  loved  you,  and  when  a 
girl  as  bad  as  I  am  loves  a  man — it  is  hell !  " 

The  door  closed  behind  her. 

Phillip  remained  seated.  Jenny  was  forgotten.  He 
was  facing  the  problem  of  his  weakness  in  the  face  of 
temptation,  and  his  feeling  of  having  committed  an 
offense  toward  Margaret  beyond  forgiveness. 

Thus  Haggleton  found  him  when  he  entered  an  hour 
later. 

"  Still  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  thought  you  would 
rejoin  us." 

"  I  intended  to,  but — but — I  have  had  an  unpleasant 
experience." 

"  With  Jenny  Moran." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  Yes,  it  was  Jenny.  I  tried 
to  help  her." 

Haggleton  looked  at  his  son,  then  leaned  over  and 
brushed  some  face  powder  off  his  sleeve.  Philip 
blushed.  The  older  man's  face  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  Then,  resolutely :  "  She  is  in  love 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Love !  "  answered  Phillip  with  loathing. 

"  Hm !  "   mused   Haggleton,   brushing   some   more 


THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED   HIM        191 

face  powder  off  the  lapel  of  Phillip's  coat,  saying 
dryly : 

"  Next  time  I  would  advise  you  to  help  some  older 
and  homelier  female — one  who  doesn't  put  on  so  much 
powder." 

"  Next  time  ?    What  about  this  time  ?  " 

Haggleton  had  already  made  a  fairly  accurate  guess 
at  what  had  happened.  Phillip  felt  unhappy,  and  also 
felt  it  his  duty  to  confess  to  Margaret  and  make  her 
unhappy.  Then  everybody  concerned  would  be  un- 
happy, and  morality  would  be  vindicated.  He  sighed 
a  little  even  while  he  smiled  to  himself.  He  needed  his 
son,  yes,  but  his  son  needed  him  even  more.  So  he 
proceeded  to  give  the  young  man  a  little  lesson  in  prac- 
tical worldly  wisdom. 

"  Nothing  has  happened,  has  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Nothing?  Oh,  no.  I  only  took  her  in  my  arms. 
I  kissed  her.  Nothing  has  happened,  you  say !  "  Phil- 
lip's voice  was  tense  with  bitter  self-reproach. 

"  It  is  a  little  thing,"  said  Haggleton,  soothingly. 

"  Little  ?  "  He  turned  almost  savagely  toward  Hag- 
gleton. "  If  I  cannot  control  myself  in  little  things, 
how  can  I  control  myself  in  big  things?  Besides,  it 
isn't  a  little  thing.  I  am  engaged  to  a  fine,  pure  girl. 
I'm  going  to  tell  her — I  must  tell  her — and  she  will 
despise  me." 

Haggleton  took  his  arm  and  slowly  walked  up  and 
down  with  him. 

"Why  tell  her?  "he  asked. 

"  She  has  a  right  to  know." 

"  She  has  a  right  to  know  anything  serious,  but  this 
isn't  serious.  You  love  her,  don't  you  ?  " 


192  THE   BATTLE 

"  Love  her  ?    I  worship  her !    Oh !  " 

Phillip  stood  still,  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands. 

"  You  don't  care  for  this  other  woman  ?  "  persisted 
Haggleton. 

"No!  No!  No!" 

"  Then  you  are  easy  with  your  conscience.  It  would 
be  cowardly  to  tell  her.  You  would  simply  transfer 
the  regret  from  your  shoulders  to  hers.  Don't  you 
see?" 

Phillip  pondered  this  a  moment. 

"  It  seems  true,"  he  replied.  "  Do  you  really  think 
that?" 

"  I  know  it.  It  would  cause  her  needless  pain. 
There  is  so  much  needless  pain  in  the  world,  don't 
add  to  it.  Repentance  is  best  done  in  silence,  when 
open  confession  means  suffering  to  others." 

"  By  George,  you  are  right ! "  exclaimed  Phillip. 
His  face  lighted  up.  "  I  must  not  tell  her." 

He  glanced  with  open  admiration  at  his  wise  coun- 
selor, and  added : 

"  It's  wonderful  how  you  see  the  best  thing  to  do." 
In  a  burst  of  confidence  he  continued : 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  speak  of  it,  but  I — I  feel  a 
sympathy  for  you,  sir.  I  used  to  think  you  were — 
sort  of  inhuman,  but  you've  been  kind  to  me,  and — you 
have  taught  me  a  lot." 

"  I  take  a  great  interest  in  you,  my  boy,"  said  Hag- 
gleton gently. 

"  Sometimes,"  Phillip  went  on,  puzzling,  "  I  have 
thought  that  I  have  two  natures,  one  from  my  mother, 
the  other  " — his  face  darkened — "  from  my  father." 

"  What  about  your  father? " 


THE   WOMAN   TEMPTED   HIM        193 

Haggleton  hung  upon  the  answer  with  intense  in- 
terest. 

"  My  father  was  not  a  good  man,  Mr.  Haggleton. 
He — he  pretty  well  broke  my  mother's  heart,  and  any 
man  who  could  be  unkind  to  such  a  woman — she  was 
a  saint  on  earth — any  man  who  could  be  cruel  to  her 
was  a  brute  and  a  scoundrel." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  was  cruel  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  know  how  she  suffered.  I  know  what  I  saw. 
Many  a  time  she  has  held  me  tight  in  her  arms,  and 
once — I  don't  suppose  she  thought  I  understood — she 
prayed  God  to  forgive  my  father's  sins,  and  to  let 
me  make  amends  when  I  came  to  be  a  man." 

"  But  she  never  said  what  your  father  did  ?  " 

"  I  never  asked.  I  just  grew  up  with  the  idea  that 
my  life  was  set  apart  for  a  special  work.  And  it  is 
set  apart.  I  have  a  trade  for  my  living,  but  my  real 
work  is  to  help  the  poor.  That's  what  mother  taught 
me,  and  I  am  bound  to  do  it — only " 

"  Only  ?  "  repeated  Haggleton. 

"  Well,  sometimes  I  feel  another  thing  urging  me — 
a  hateful,  infernal  thing,  urging  me  toward  money  and 
— and  all  that.  I  think  that  I  would  like  to  be  rich, 
and  that  is  what  worries  me.  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean  ?  "  Phillip's  voice  was  anxious. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Haggleton,  outwardly  calm,  but  in 
his  heart  rejoicing  over  this  admission,  these  words 
from  his  son's  own  lips  proving  the  bond  of  kinship. 

"  That  is  why  this  Jenny  affair  is  so  serious,"  the 
young  man  went  on.  "  It  shows  the  weakness  in  me, 
You  can't  understand  because  you  are  not  weak." 

Haggleton  put  his  hand  upon  Phillip's  shoulder.    He 


194  THE   BATTLE 

was  touched  by  this  confidence,  by  this  confession  as 
frank  and  intimate  as  if  the  boy  knew  already  the  tie 
of  blood  between  them.  Ah,  yes,  he  had  made  prog- 
ress. The  battle  was  almost  won.  But  not  quite. 
Haggleton,  seeing  his  opportunity  to  strengthen  the 
ultimate  position  in  which  the  last,  the  decisive  strug- 
gle must  be  fought,  grasped  it  with  the  determination 
that  was  so  salient  a  feature  of  his  character. 

"  We  are  all  weak,  my  boy,"  he  said  (and  how  sweet 
it  was  to  say  those  two  words,  "my  boy").  "We 
are  all  weak,  and  I  will  show  you  how  weak  I  am. 
Take  this  tenement  business.  It  isn't  entirely  to  study 
the  problem  of  poverty  that  I  am  here." 

"  No?  "    Phillip  looked  interested. 

"  No.  There  is  a  sad  reason,  an  unpleasant  reason. 
I  give  you  confidence  for  confidence,  my  boy.  We 
begin  to  understand  each  other.  The  fact  is  that  years 
ago  I  did  something  that  I — regret." 

"  Something  wrong  ?  " 

Phillip  regretted  the  question  the  moment  it  had 
passed  his  lips.  It  was  ill-considered,  impertinent,  he 
felt.  But  Haggleton  quietly  confessed. 

"  Yes,  something  wrong.    And — Gentle  knows  it." 

"Gentle!" 

"  Yes.    I  am  making  amends  for  that  wrong  now." 

Haggleton  stopped,  getting  ready  for  his  final  argu- 
ment. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  serve  any  purpose  to  expose 
me,  to  place  the  burden  of  my  sin  upon  other  shoul- 
ders— on  the  shoulders  of  those  who  must  succeed  me  ? 
Will  it  not  answer  the  demands  of  justice  if  I  am  al- 
lowed to  atone  sincerely  in  silence,  as  it  answers  the 


THE   WOMAN    TEMPTED   HIM        195 

purpose  best  for  you  to  repent  without  telling  Mar- 
garet?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Phillip.    "  That  sounds  but  just." 
"  Well,  then,  will  you  promise  not  to  try  to  find  out 
what  it  is  that  I  did  in  the  past  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  won't.     It  is  not  for  me  to  judge  an- 
other man." 

"  And  if  Gentle  should  try  to  tell  you?  " 

"  I'll  refuse  to  listen.    I  won't  let  him  tell  me." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

MARGARET   AND    HAGGLETON 

MARGARET  LAWRENCE,  meanwhile,  was 
going  her  way,  doing  good.  She  found  use 
for  every  minute  of  her  waking  hours  in  that  disease- 
infected  district  with  its  horde  of  neglected  children 
and  overworked  mothers.  Poverty  pinched  her,  how- 
ever, and  she  had  been  glad  to  take  two  "  pay  cases  " 
in  succession.  It  followed  that  she  had  seen  but  little 
of  Phillip  for  some  time,  but  his  letters  to  her  had 
sufficed  to  make  her  vaguely  uneasy.  They  breathed  a 
different  spirit  now ;  there  was  in  them  the  atmosphere 
of  material  aspiration,  of  money-making,  that  seemed 
unlike  her  Phillip  of  high  ideals. 

Phillip's  letters  were  full,  moreover,  of  admiring 
praise  of  this  mysterious  Mr.  Jackson,  whom  she  had 
seen  for  a  few  seconds  that  one  morning  in  the  Moran 
home.  She  felt  this  strange  man's  growing  influence 
over  her  lover  in  every  line  that  he  sent  her,  and  now 
this  combination  of  bakeshops  seemed  to  be  occupy- 
ing all  his  time  and  all  his  thoughts.  His  letters  were 
still  filled  with  protestations  of  love,  but  they  were 
promises  also  of  comfort  and  idleness,  of  riches  to 
come,  of  all  the  things  that  she,  in  her  youthful  en- 
thusiasm, scorned  and  despised.  Yes,  Phillip  was 
changing,  and  not  for  the  better.  She  could  not  be 

196 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   197 

there  to  counteract  Jackson's  influence,  and  Mr.  Gen- 
tle— well,  Phillip  wrote  her  again  and  again  of  the 
growing  divergence  in  their  views  of  social  better- 
ment. 

It  was  with  happy  anticipation,  therefore,  that  she 
left  the  patient  whom  she  had  successfully  nursed 
back  to  health,  and  returned  to  Mrs.  Binney's  board- 
ing house.  She  would  have  time  now  to  take  her 
worldly  minded  lover  in  hand,  and  to  bring  him  back 
to  the  path  in  which  they  had  met  and  learned  to  care 
for  each  other — the  path  of  loving  service  to  the  poor. 

But  fate  willed  it  otherwise.  On  the  doorstep  of 
Mrs.  Binney's  house  she  met  Gentle,  who  looked  more 
serious  than  she  had  ever  seen  him  before,  and  who 
was  unmistakably  in  a  great  hurry.  At  sight  of  her  his 
face  cleared,  however. 

"  Miss  Lawrence,"  he  said  rapidly,  "  will  you  find 
Phillip  at  once?  There  has  been  an  accident  in  the 
river — Atkinson,  one  of  the  divers,  is  caught  in  a 
wreck,  and  Phillip  is  needed.  You  will  find  him  at 
the  Morans',  talking  bakeshop  to  Mr.  Jackson,  I  sup- 
pose." 

The  old  man  smiled  grimly. 

Margaret  ran  all  the  way  on  her  mission.  A  life 
was  in  danger!  Here  was  better  work  for  her  lover 
than  money-scheming  and  money-making! 

As  Gentle  had  said,  she  found  Phillip  in  the  Mo- 
rans' rooms.  He  was  in  consultation  with  Mr.  Jack- 
son. As  she  entered,  breathless,  the  elder  man  con- 
siderately turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
giving  them  an  opportunity  for  a  loverlike  greeting. 
Happy  as  Margaret  was  to  feel  once  more  her  lover's 


198  THE   BATTLE 

arms  around  her,  she  yielded  to  his  embrace  for  only 
a  moment. 

"  Phillip,"  she  said  hastily,  "  there  has  been  an  acci- 
dent in  the  river.  Atkinson  has  been  caught  in  a 
wreck  and  they  can't  get  him  up.  They  just  tele- 
phoned Mr.  Gentle.  He  has  gone  over  and  sends  me 
to  tell  you  to  come  at  once.  The  tug  is  waiting  at  the 
foot  of  Twenty-third  Street." 

Phillip  was  alert  at  once.  He  grasped  his  hat  and 
started  for  the  door,  ejaculating: 

"  Atkinson  caught !  Good  God !  His  hose  must  be 
jammed  under  the  timbers !  " 

He  paid  no  attention  to  either  Margaret  or  Hag- 
gleton,  intent  only  on  the  work  before  him. 

"  Phil ! "  shouted  Margaret,  running  after  him, 
"  you  are  not  going  into  danger  ?  " 

"  Danger  ?  I  am  going  to  get  Atkinson  out  of  that 
wreck." 

"  You  are  going  down  to  him  ?  "  wailed  the  woman. 

"  Of  course."  He  added  hastily :  "  Don't  worry, 
dear." 

"  Promise  me  you  will  be  careful  ?  " 

She  was  clinging  to  him. 

He  softly  disengaged  himself,  kissed  her,  said  "  Yes, 
yes !  "  and  ran  off. 

Haggleton  and  Margaret  looked  at  each  other  curi- 
ously. They  had  not  met  yet,  and  had  seen  each  other 
only  once,  for  that  brief  moment,  on  the  day  of  the 
millionaire's  arrival  at  the  tenement,  when  the  two 
child  boarders  had  been  taken  to  the  hospital. 

Haggleton  had  carefully  repressed  the  burning  curi- 
osity he  felt  concerning  this  girl  who  was  to  become 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   199 

his  daughter-in-law.  Prudence,  on  his  part,  as  an  ap- 
parent stranger,  had  bidden  him  not  to  force  a  meet- 
ing. Now  it  had  come  about  quite  naturally. 

He  looked  at  Margaret,  and  approved  of  her  ap- 
pearance. She  certainly  was  handsome,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  winning.  What  was  more,  she 
looked  like  a  gentlewoman,  every  inch  of  her.  As  to 
her  opinions,  well — she  was  a  settlement  worker,  and, 
no  doubt,  held  the  theory  that,  while  the  poor  should 
help  themselves  somewhat,  the  rich  should  do  most 
of  this  for  them.  What  attitude  would  she  take  when 
she  came  to  learn  his  true  name,  still  more,  his  rela- 
tionship to  Phillip? 

He  stepped  forward. 

"  My  name  is  Jackson,  Miss  Lawrence.  I  am  Mr. 
Ames's  partner." 

"  I've  heard  so  much  of  you,  Mr.  Jackson." 

Margaret  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him  intently. 
Then  she  backed  away  from  him,  a  look  of  aversion 
coming  into  her  face. 

"  Jackson !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  No,  your  name  is 
Haggleton.  You  are  John  J.  Haggleton!  I  know 
you!" 

"  Suppose  I  am,  Miss  Lawrence,  what  of  it?" 

"  You  will  know  when  I  tell  you  my  name." 

"  I  know  it." 

Haggleton  searched  in  his  memory.  A  light  began 
to  dawn  upon  his  features,  which  changed  from  doubt 
to  certainty,  then  to  dismay. 

"You  are  the  daughter — ?"  he  began. 

"  Yes,  I  am  the  daughter  of  William  Lawrence,  the 
man  you  ruined  and  dishonored." 


200  THE   BATTLE 

"  Business  made  it  unavoidable,  Miss  Lawrence — 
Oh,  why  can  women  never  understand  such  things  ?  " 

"  Business !  Yes,  business  as  you  practice  it.  Not 
as  honest  men  know  it." 

"  Oh,  now,  that's  going  too  far.  I  want  to  explain 
to  you." 

Margaret  shook  her  head. 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you,"  she  said,  trembling  with 
anger. 

"  You  have  strong  prejudices,  Miss  Lawrence." 

"  Yes — against  disloyalty  and  dishonesty." 

Haggleton  reflected.  This  unforeseen  ^complication 
dismayed  him.  Was  the  ghost  of  his  guilty  past, 
which  he  had  made  harmless  through  Phillip's  promise 
never  to  inquire  regarding  it,  never  to  allow  Gentle 
to  tell  him  of  it,  to  be  conjured  up  against  him  after 
all  by  this  young  woman?  Would  it  shipwreck  all  his 
well-laid  plans,  so  near  fruition?  A  thought  of  man- 
kind's unfaltering  belief  in  retribution  through  the 
ages  shot  through  his  brain,  and  paralyzed  his  think- 
ing power.  A  second  later  he  was  again  the  resource- 
ful Haggleton,  the  master  of  circumstances. 

"  Suppose  I  admit  that  I  did  your  father  a  wrong," 
he  began  cautiously.  "  And  suppose  also  that  I  wish 
to  make  amends  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Suppose  I  tear  down  this  block,  Lung  Block — I 
own  it,  and  never  gave  it  a  thought — suppose  I  tear  it 
down  and  make  a  fine  playground  of  it  in  memory  of 
your  father — and  call  it  Lawrence  Park?  Would  you 
be  disposed  to  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Lawrence  Park !  "    Margaret's  eyes  shone  with  en- 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   201 

thusiasm.  The  evil  that  could  not  be  undone  bearing 
good  fruit!  At  the  price  of  her  forgiveness! 

She  wavered.  It  seemed  so  fair  an  offer,  so  fine  a 
restitution,  since  not  she  but  the  poor  would  benefit — 
the  poor  whom  she  had  always  with  her ! 

"  Lawrence  Park  where  Lung  Block  used  to  stand," 
she  repeated  softly  to  herself.  But  her  grievance 
welled  up  suddenly,  and  brought  an  unreasoning  re- 
sentment of  the  offer. 

"  You  know  how  to  tempt  me,"  she  said  bitterly ; 
"  the  very  best  way,  but  I  could  never  be  friends  with 
you — never !  " 

Haggleton  changed  his  method  suddenly.  It  was  a 
way  he  had  of  disconcerting  his  opponents  and  un- 
settling their  resolution. 

"  If  it  isn't  friends,"  he  said  briefly,  "  then  it  is  ene- 
mies." 

"  Yes,  enemies  always !  I  do  not  trust  you,  John  J. 
Haggleton." 

Margaret  looked  around  her  at  the  changed  room, 
the  result,  she  knew,  of  this  man's  energy  and  power 
of  management. 

"  Why  are  you  living  in  a  tenement  under  an  as- 
sumed name?  "  she  asked  suddenly.  "  You  have  some 
selfish  purpose ;  you  must  have." 

"  No,  my  purpose  is  not  selfish." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  make  friends  with  me  ? " 
continued  the  girl,  following  up  her  vague  suspicions. 
"  Why  do  you  care  what  I  do?  What  difference  can 
it  make  to  you  ?  " 

Again  Haggleton  changed  his  tactics.  She  was  be- 
wildered already ;  he  would  confuse  her  more. 


202  THE   BATTLE 

"  I'll  tell  you  frankly,"  he  answered.  "  I  do  not 
want  you  to  influence  Phillip  against  me." 

The  effect  was  what  Haggleton  had  foreseen.  Mar- 
garet's thoughts  turned  from  her  own  grievance  to  a 
new  and  nearer  preoccupation. 

"  Influence  Phillip  against  you !  "  she  wondered. 
"  What  do  you  care  for  Phillip  ?.  Influence  a  poor 
master  diver  against  John  J.  Haggleton  ?  " 

Her  glance  strayed  to  Phil's  picture  on  the  wall. 
Something  that  she  had  never  seen  before  in  it  struck 
her.  She  looked  again.  What  was  it?  Very  slowly 
the  impression  penetrated  her  mind.  She  suddenly 
remembered  what  Gentle  had  told  her  concerning  the 
mystery  of  her  lover's  parentage. 

She  turned  to  Haggleton,  scrutinized  his  features, 
looked  at  the  portrait  again,  then  sank  down  in  a 
chair  with  a  cry  of  horror. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  Phillip's  father !  " 

The  millionaire  was  disconcerted.  This  was  the 
last  thing  he  had  expected.  To  gain  time  he  asked  a 
question : 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think,  I  feel,  I  know.  You  are  his 
father." 

The  meaning  of  it  all  rushed  upon  her  and  over- 
whelmed her. 

"  Phil,"  she  said,  "  whom  I  love,  and  whom  I  have 
promised  to  marry!  You  are  his  father,  and  you 
ruined  my  father !  Oh,  it  is  horrible !  " 

She  sat  overwhelmed,  bewildered,  feeling  as  if  all 
her  happiness,  all  her  beautiful  plans  and  dreams  were 
in  horrible  chaos. 


'OH!"  SUE  EXCLAIMED,    "YOU  ABE  PHILLIP'S  FATHER." 


Page  202. 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   203 

Haggleton  waited  a  few  moments  patiently.  He 
still  held  much  in  reserve.  When  he  judged  that  the 
proper  moment  had  come — Margaret  had  wiped  her 
eyes  several  times,  and  finally  tucked  away  her  hand- 
kerchief— he  resumed  the  interview. 

"  Phillip  knows  nothing  of  this,"  he  began.  Mar- 
garet rose. 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  she  said  with  decision.  "  I  will 
warn  him.  I  will  show  him  his  danger." 

"What  danger?" 

"  You  think  that  this  boy  has  inherited  tendencies 
which  you  can  appeal  to  if  you  have  the  time.  Well, 
you  are  not  going  to  get  the  time!  I'll  appeal  to 
Phillip's  better  nature." 

"  Suppose  you  fail  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  fail — I  love  him." 

Haggleton  motioned  to  her  to  sit  down  and  then 
took  a  chair  opposite  her. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  something,  Miss  Lawrence,"  he 
said  very  quietly.  "  I  have  never  breathed  this  to  a 
human  being.  I  am  telling  you  because  you  are  a 
woman — a  good  woman.  But,  Miss  Lawrence  " — he 
raised  his  voice  skillfully  to  increase  her  attention — 
"  it  is  astonishing  how  much  harm  is  done  in  this 
world  by  good  women." 

He  had  succeeded.     Margaret  was  interested. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  will  show  you  what  I  mean  right  in  my  own  life. 
My  life !  You  think  it  has  been  all  hard  and  cruel — no 
love  in  it  at  all.  Just  scheming  for  money,  grabbing 
everything  in  sight,  and  not  caring  who  suffered.  In 
a  way  it  is  true,  I  admit  it.  But  who  made  it  true  ?  A 


204  THE   BATTLE 

woman.  A  splendid,  high-principled  woman — like 
you." 

"  You  mean  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  wife."  Haggleton  was  talking  in  a  very 
low  voice,  but  very  distinctly,  letting  each  word  drop 
into  the  consciousness  of  his  listener.  "  My  wife," 
he  continued,  "  did  not  approve  of  certain  things  I  did 
in  business,  but  instead  of  helping  me,  she  left  me.  She 
stole  away  my  little  boy,  my  son,  and — when  she  took 
him,  she  took  all  the  love  out  of  my  life.  Four  years 
old  he  was  when — when  she  took  him  away.  Such  a 
brave  little  fellow !  He  had  just  had  his  curls  cut  off. 
He  used  to  walk  along  with  me  and  swing  his  little 
cane." 

He  paused  as  his  voice  began  to  falter,  Margaret 
watching  him  with  covert  astonishment  at  thfe  betrayal 
of  feeling  in  a  man  whom  she  had  held  incapable  of  an 
honest  human  emotion.  Mastering  himself,  Haggle- 
ton  continued  with  quiet  intensity : 

"  Love  him !  Love  him !  What  plans  I  made  for 
that  boy !  What  hopes  I  had  for  him !  And  when  he 
got  sick  " — his  voice  choked  again — "  well,  never  mind, 
but  I  loved  him !  He  was  my  son,  my  only  son !  " 

"  I  understand." 

"  You  think  that  I  have  all  I  want  because  I  have 
money.  Money !  What  is  it  ?  A  drug  that  makes  us 
forget  what  we  haven't  got.  I  tell  you  I  want  my  son, 
and  you  want  to  take  him  from  me.  I  have  waited  for 
him.  I've  got  him,  and  I  am  going  to  keep  him !  " 

His  voice  had  risen  with  his  last  words.  Margaret 
glanced  at  him  with  involuntary  sympathy.  She  un- 
derstood. But  Haggleton  had  more  to  say. 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   205 

"  Do  you  believe  in  fair  play  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Do 
you  know  why  I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  am  his 
father?" 

The  girl  waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"  I  will  tell  you  this,  too.  It  is  because  Gentle  said 
that  it  wasn't  fair  to  throw  my  millions  in  the  scale 
against  his  ideals." 

"  Gentle  made  you  promise  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  did  not  want  to  buy  a  son — I  wanted 
to  win  his  respect  and  love." 

At  this  moment  Gentle  entered  quietly.  He  looked 
inquiringly  at  these  two  seated  there.  Margaret, 
catching  the  glance,  got  up.  The  spell  of  Haggleton 
was  broken. 

"  You  have  aroused  Phillip's  admiration  by  your 
conduct  of  this  bakeshop  business,"  she  said  with  de- 
cision. "  You  have  appealed  to  Gentle's  love  of  fair 
play  by  your  promise,  as  you  have  appealed  to  me 
through  my  father's  memory.  You  can  bend  every- 
one to  your  will,  but — you  can't  bend  me !  " 

"  Wait,  Margaret,"  Gentle  admonished  her. 

"  Gentle,"  said  Haggleton  briefly,  "  I  have  kept  my 
word.  I  have  not  told  Phillip." 

"  You  knew  that  he  is  Phillip's  father  ?  "  asked  the 
girl. 

"  Yes,  Margaret.  You  believe  me  to  be  Phillip's 
friend  and  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but " 

"  Don't  tell  Phillip,  Margaret." 

«  But " 

"Don't  tell  Phillip,"  repeated  the  old  diver,  with 
increasing  seriousness.  And  he  added,  significantly: 


206  THE   BATTLE 

"  At  least  not  until  I  give  the  word." 

Margaret  looked  from  one  man  to  the  other  un- 
decided. Gentle,  too,  upon  whom  she  had  counted  as 
her  ally  against  this  enemy — he,  too,  counseled  her  not 
to  put  Phillip  on  his  guard?  He  must  have  a  good 
reason — he,  her  lover's  best  and  truest  friend.  The 
reflection  carried  weight;  she  decided  to  follow  his 
advice. 

"  I  trust  you,  Mr.  Gentle,"  she  said,  "  and  I  prom- 
ise. I  will  not  tell  Phillip.  I  will  not  even  tell  him 
that  I  know  who  Mr.  Jackson  really  is." 

Then,  turning  full  upon  Haggleton,  she  straight- 
ened her  supple  young  body  to  its  full  height.  Look- 
ing him  full  in  the  eyes  she  threw  down  the  gauntlet 
between  them: 

"  I  have  promised  now,  but — the  battle  is  not  ended 
yet." 

"  The  battle !  "  answered  Haggleton.  His  spirits 
rose.  Now  that  this  girl  would  fight  fair  he  felt  sure 
again  of  ultimate  victory. 

"  The  battle !  "  he  said  again.  "  I  accept  your  chal- 
lenge— but  you  who  love  him,  and  whom  he  loves,  re- 
member that  he  is  my  son !  We  are  of  one  flesh — he 
and  I — and  that's  the  elemental  fact.  You  cannot  keep 
us  apart !  " 

He  bowed  to  Margaret  and  left  the  room. 

The  girl  at  once  turned  to  Gentle.  The  momentous 
interview  through  which  she  had  just  passed  was  for- 
gotten in  her  anxiety  for  her  lover. 

The  old  diver  could  give  her  good  news.  He  had 
been  ordered  not  to  go  out  with  the  tug,  but  to  stay 
on  the  dock,  and  had  hurried  home  the  moment  the 


MARGARET  AND  HAGGLETON   207 

news  had  been  signaled  across  the  water  that  all  was 
well,  to  tell  Margaret  and  put  an  end  to  her  suspense. 
He  had  not  found  her  there,  and  had  gone  to  Moran's 
place  to  look  for  her,  stopping,  however,  long  enough 
on  the  way  to  telephone  for  particulars  if  any  were  yet 
to  be  had. 

He  had  heard  enough  to  assure  Margaret  that 
Phillip  had  made  one  of  the  bravest  rescues  on  record, 
a  deed  that  would  be  celebrated  for  many  a  day  where- 
ever  divers  met  together. 

And  Phillip  was  not  hurt?  Margaret  asked  the 
question  again  and  again.  Happy  in  Gentle's  reas- 
surances that  Phillip  was  safe  and  sound,  and  was 
coming  to  see  her  that  evening  she  hurried  back  to 
her  boarding  house. 

Gentle,  left  alone,  looked  around  the  room,  so  cheery 
now  in  its  neatness  and  order.  Yet  it  felt  unaccount- 
ably empty. 

"  Jenny !  "  he  called,  but  no  answer  came. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  slowly  went  out  into  the 
street. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE   MASTER   DIVER 

PHILLIP  had  hastened  to  the  scene  of  the  acci- 
dent. As  they  steamed  along  on  the  tug,  one  of 
the  men  explained  what  had  happened.  A  barge 
loaded  with  copper  ore  had  been  run  into  by  a  ferry- 
boat early  that  morning  and  sunk  in  fifty  feet  of  water 
off  Eighteenth  Street. 

Atkinson  had  gone  down  to  put  chains  under  the 
barge  so  they  could  get  her  up,  and  had  found  her 
deep  in  the  mud.  He  had  to  tunnel  underneath 
with  compressed  air  to  get  the  chains  in  place,  and  in 
fixing  the  second  chain  something  had  gone  wrong, 
and  when  he  signaled  to  come  up  and  they  tried  to 
lift  him,  they  found  that  he  was  caught  in  the  wreck 
and  they  couldn't  move  him.  Four  times  he  had  sig- 
naled them  to  lift  and  four  times  they  had  tried  and 
failed.  They  couldn't  budge  him. 

And  now  he  had  been  down  over  three  hours!  He 
must  be  getting  weak ! 

"  Getting  weak !  "  shuddered  Phillip.  "  In  fifty  feet 
of  water !  "  He  knew  that  two  hours  at  such  a  depth 
was  a  full  day's  work  for  the  strongest  diver,  two 
hours  with  the  brain  throbbing  under  an  air  pres- 
sure of  many  tons!  And  Atkinson  had  been  down 
over  three  hours ! 

ao8 


THE   MASTER   DIVER  209 

"  Come !  "  he  cried  as  they  drew  up  to  an  ugly 
wrecking  scow  anchored  in  mid-stream.  "  Come,  get 
the  suit  on  me  quick !  " 

Leaping  aboard,  he  threw  off  his  hat  and  coat,  un- 
laced his  shoes,  slipped  off  his  trousers  and  stood  ready 
for  the  rubber  suit. 

Three  of  the  crew  worked  swiftly  and  silently  dress- 
ing him,  for  no  diver  can  dress  himself.  They 
squeezed  him  into  the  diving  suit,  a  huge  pair  of  rub- 
ber boots  coming  up  to  the  chin  and  fitted  with  rubber 
sleeves  clutching  the  wrists  so  tight  that  no  water  can 
get  in.  They  put  the  gasket  over  his  shoulders  and 
made  it  fast  with  thumbscrews  under  a  heavy  copper 
collar.  They  strapped  over  his  rubber  feet  a  pair  of 
thirty-pound  iron  shoes  and  then  they  led  him  to  an 
iron  ladder  reaching  down  from  rail  to  water. 

"  Go  into  the  cabin  and  fetch  me  my  knife,"  he 
said  to  one  of  the  men. 

Slowly  he  lifted  his  heavy  feet  over  the  side,  and, 
standing  on  the  ladder,  bent  forward  on  the  deck,  face 
down,  as  a  man  would  lay  his  neck  on  the  block.  The 
helpers  made  fast  around  his  waist  the  hundred-pound 
belt  of  lead  that  would  presently  sink  him  to  the  bot- 
tom. And  under  his  arms  they  fixed  the  life-line 
noose.  Then  they  brought  the  copper  helmet  with  its 
three  goggle  eyes  and  screwed  it  fast  to  the  collar, 
leaving  the  face  glass  out  for  a  last  word. 

"  Here's  your  knife,"  said  the  helper,  holding  out  a 
leathern  sheath  from  which  Phillip  drew  a  wicked 
weapon  with  a  long,  two-edged  blade.  He  tried  the 
edges  carefully  on  his  thumb,  then  sheathed  the  knife 
and  fastened  it  to  his  suit. 


210  THE   BATTLE 

"  Look  sharp  now,"  he  ordered.  "  And  when  you 
get  the  signal  to  lift,  lift  fast.  Ready !  " 

As  he  spoke  two  men  began  turning  at  a  wheezing 
air  pump,  while  a  third  screwed  on  the  face  glass  which 
cuts  off  a  diver  from  the  outer  world.  A  sweetish, 
warmish  breath  entered  the  helmet  as  the  pump  fed 
him  air  through  the  hose,  and,  moving  down  the  lad- 
der step  by  step,  Phillip  disappeared  in  the  river. 
Then,  loosing  his  hold,  he  sank  with  a  roar  in  his  ears 
and  a  flash  of  silver  bubbles,  sank  with  his  total  weight 
of  nearly  four  hundred  pounds,  and  presently,  thanks 
to  skillful  handling  of  the  life  line,  landed  safe  on  the 
deck  of  the  sunken  barge. 

First  he  took  his  bearings,  peering  about  in  the  dim 
light,  for  fifty  feet  down  in  a  muddy  river  a  diver  can 
see  only  a  few  feet  before  him.  Then  he  carefully 
groped  along  the  deck,  searching  for  a  rent  in  the 
barge's  side  where  the  bow  of  the  ferryboat  had 
crashed  through. 

Ah,  here  it  was!  No  wonder  she  sank  quickly! 
Side  and  deck  ripped  open  to  her  middle,  with  timbers 
bent  and  splintered,  standing  out  now  in  fantastic 
shapes !  And  how  the  tide  hissed  as  it  surged  through 
her! 

Phillip  waited  until  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  semidarkness,  and  presently,  as  his  field  of  vision 
widened,  he  made  out  a  line  of  silver  bubbles  yonder, 
steadily  ascending.  Atkinson  must  be  there,  down  ort 
the  bottom,  where  he  had  been  working  when  the  acci- 
dent occurred. 

Phillip  lowered  himself  over  the  side  and  sank  until 
his  iron  feet  touched  the  river  bed.  Then  carefully  he 


THE   MASTER   DIVER  211 

made  his  way  toward  Atkinson,  and  in  a  moment  saw 
what  had  happened.  There  was  much  soft  mud  in  the 
river  here,  and  the  barge,  heavily  laden,  had  sunk 
deep  in  it.  A  risky  job  of  tunneling,  this — a  very  risky 
job! 

Ah,  there  was  Atkinson  now,  half  sitting,  half  lying 
against  a  mud  bank !  But  he  did  not  move !  Perhaps 
he  was  weary  with  his  efforts;  perhaps — ah,  his  hand 
stirred ;  at  least  he  was  alive !  And,  stepping  forward, 
Phillip  took  the  hand  in  encouraging  grasp  as  if  to 
say,  "  Old  comrade,  I'm  here !  "  A  faint  pressure  was 
returned,  but  Atkinson  lay  quite  still. 

With  sinking  heart  Phillip  studied  the  situation. 
Here  was  Atkinson's  life  line  running  up  free,  but  his 
hose,  the  precious  way  of  air  and  life,  was  caught  un- 
der a  shattered  timber  of  the  barge,  which  must  have 
lurched  over  suddenly  as  Atkinson  tunneled  under  it. 
And  in  turning  it  had  caught  the  rubber  pipe  before 
the  old  diver  could  escape;  and  now,  the  end  of  the 
timber,  hooked  over  the  hose,  was  imbedded  in  the 
mud  and  the  hose  was  held  in  a  massive  V  that 
pressed  down  upon  it  with  the  whole  weight  of  the 
barge  and  its  load.  Yet  the  hose  itself  was  unin- 
jured; the  stream  of  bubbles  showed  that;  Atkinson 
was  getting  his  air,  but  he  was  held  fast  at  the  bottom 
of  the  river  and  there  was  no  way  of  freeing  him  until 
the  barge  could  be  lifted,  which  was  a  matter  of  hours, 
alas,  while  Atkinson's  hold  on  life  was  perhaps  a  mat- 
ter of  minutes. 

As  Phillip  stood  perplexed,  he  felt  Atkinson's  hand 
drawing  him  closer,  and,  bending  over,  he  heard  this 
message  tapped  on  his  copper  helmet  in  the  Morse 


212  THE   BATTLE 

alphabet,  tapped  faintly  yet  distinctly :  "  Wife — chil- 
dren— love."  Then  came  three  letters  that  sounded 
like  "  M — W — W — /'  as  if  his  poor  comrade  had 
tried  to  start  another  word  and  his  strength  had 
failed. 

God!  The  man  was  dying.  There  was  not  a  mo- 
ment to  lose,  no  time  to  summon  help,  even  if  help 
were  available. 

Again  he  pressed  Atkinson's  hand  and  found  it  cold, 
with  no  response.  He  forced  back  the  tight  rubber 
wristbands  and  felt  for  the  pulse.  There  was  a  feeble 
fluttering,  a  spark  of  life  still.  Ah!  if  he  could  only 
give  some  stimulant,  but  between  this  man  and  all  the 
world  was  that  copper  helmet,  at  once  a  shield  and  a 
barrier.  And  with  no  particular  relevancy  Phillip 
thought  of  the  tortures  endured  by  a  diver  once 
through  the  tickling  of  a  June  bug  that  had  got  inside 
his  helmet  somehow,  and  had  taken  to  violent  gymnas- 
tics over  his  face  when  they  were  down  below. 

What  could  he  do?  Surely  he  must  save  this 
man!  There  must  be  some  way  of  rescue!  But 
what  way? 

Then  in  a  flash  he  recalled  the  theory  that  if  a  diver 
in  trouble  like  this  were  to  cut  his  hose  and  instantly 
press  his  thumb  over  the  opening,  he  might  live  on  the 
air  inside  his  suit  until  they  could  lift  him  to  the  sur- 
face with  the  life  line  and  get  his  helmet  off. 

He  remembered  hearing  the  question  argued,  and 
doubt  expressed  whether  a  diver  would  be  able  to  cut 
his  own  hose,  for  the  hose  is  tough  and  thick  and  joins 
the  helmet  at  the  back,  so  that  the  diver  himself  might 
have  trouble  in  getting  at  it.  But  this  case  was  differ- 


THE   MASTER   DIVER  213 

ent;  he  could  get  at  Atkinson's  hose  well  enough; 
there  it  was  before  him,  and  his  arm  was  strong  and 
his  knife  sharp. 

Phillip  took  the  man's  hand  again.  It  lay  quite  limp 
and  cold  in  his.  Then  he  rapped  the  danger  signal  on 
Atkinson's  helmet ;  rapped  sharply,  but  no  answer 
came  though  the  stream  of  silver  bubbles  still  rose 
steadily  from  the  helmet  valve.  He  was  breathing,  but 
unconscious.  Then  the  master  diver  drew  his  knife, 
and  bracing  himself  firmly  with  Atkinson's  hose  held 
tight  between  his  knees,  he  made  ready  to  cut. 

But  wait!  Where  were  the  life  lines?  He  must  be 
quick  with  the  signals  to  lift  after  the  thing  was  done ! 
Ah,  there  they  were  swaying  beside  him,  two  good 
ropes  reaching  up  through  the  yellow  water,  his  own 
and  Atkinson's.  Three  quick  jerks  on  each,  and  the 
boys  overhead  would  do  the  rest. 

As  Phillip  gripped  his  knife  again  a  feeling  of  re- 
vulsion overcame  him.  After  all,  he  could  not  do  this 
thing.  That  hose  was  a  living  thing,  life  and  breath 
to  his  comrade.  To  cut  it  was  to  bring  Atkinson  in- 
stantly face  to  face  with  horrible  death.  And  perhaps 
there  was  some  other  way. 

Perhaps  if  he  waited — then  there  came  to  him  the 
ghastly  faces  of  divers  he  had  seen  taken  from  the 
suits  when  there  had  been  too  much  waiting,  of  divers 
who  had  perished  miserably  in  some  such  plight  as 
this.  No,  he  must  act  and  not  delay,  he  must  take  the 
responsibility  as  a  father  takes  it  sometimes  at  the  bed- 
side of  a  sick  child.  This  was  the  right  thing,  the  only 
thing,  and 

With  a  strong,  quick  stroke  he  drew  his  blade  across 


214  THE   BATTLE 

the  hose,  and  in  a  single  effort  severed  it.  Then  in- 
stantly he  stopped  the  hole  with  his  left  thumb,  just 
as  he  had  planned,  and  gave  three  quick  pulls  on  the 
life  lines,  on  Atkinson's  first,  then  on  his  own ;  and  the 
next  second  the  two  divers  were  rising  to  the  surface, 
rising  swiftly  with  the  strength  of  four  pair  of  eager 
arms  above. 

And  all  might  have  gone  well  had  not  the  men  who 
were  lifting  Phillip  pulled  faster  than  the  other  two,  so 
that  presently  he  found  himself  rising  above  Atkinson. 

In  an  instant  he  realized  what  was  happening  and 
the  immediate  danger  if  his  hand  should  be  torn  away 
from  the  severed  hose.  With  his  free  hand  he  sig- 
naled them  to  lift  more  slowly,  but,  in  their  excitement, 
the  helpers  misunderstood  the  signal  and  lifted  faster 
than  ever. 

Phillip  seized  Atkinson's  life  line  with  his  right 
hand  and  clung  to  it  desperately,  while  with  his  left 
he  held  the  hose.  He  could  just  reach  down  to  it,  and 
no  more.  And  presently,  as  the  men  above  worked  in 
madder  haste,  he  felt  Atkinson's  life  line  sagging 
above  him,  and  knew  by  the  sudden  strain  that  he  was 
holding  the  man's  entire  weight,  suit  and  all,  with  his 
unaided  right  hand. 

He  could  not  help  with  his  left  hand  because  he 
dared  not  move  it  from  the  hose.  He  could  not  signal 
the  men,  even  if  they  would  have  understood  him,  for 
both  hands  were  occupied.  And  with  all  the  love  in 
the  world  he  could  not  support  this  load  many  seconds 
— it  was  beyond  his  strength,  beyond  the  strength  of 
any  man. 

Now  they  must  be  halfway   up — perhaps   twenty 


THE   MASTER   DIVER  215 

feet  below  the  surface — he  would  hold  on  a  little 
longer — and  then — and  then  came  a  great  roaring  in 
his  ears  and  blackness  in  his  eyes,  and  the  hose  was 
torn  from  his  nerveless  hand.  He  had  failed  in  his 
effort — Atkinson  must  die,  and  in  the  agony  of  this 
thought  he  lost  consciousness. 


The  next  thing  Phillip  knew  he  was  lying  on  one 
of  the  bunks  in  the  little  cabin  of  the  wrecking  scow 
and  the  company's  doctor  was  bending  over  him.  He 
opened  his  eyes  weakly  and  tried  to  think. 

"  Don't  talk,"  said  the  doctor,  pressing  a  flask  of 
brandy  to  his  lips. 

Then  it  all  came  back  to  Phillip  and  he  started  up  in 
alarm. 

"  But  Atkinson?  "  he  cried.    "  Where's  Atkinson?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  Phil,"  answered  a  cheery  voice  from 
the  bunk  opposite,  and,  looking  over,  he  saw  the  rug- 
ged face  of  his  saved  comrade,  who  was  lying  there 
with  his  head  against  a  pillow  and  his  flannel  shirt 
open  at  the  throat. 

"  Ah ! "  sighed  the  young  man,  and  sank  back  in 
contentment. 

After  all,  it  had  not  been  such  a  bad  affair.  Atkin- 
son had  come  out  of  his  suit  black  in  the  face,  but  his 
strong  vitality  and  ten  minutes  of  the  doctor's  manipu- 
lation had  brought  him  around.  As  for  Phillip,  he  had 
been  overcome  by  nervous  shock,  and  must  take  things 
easy  for  several  days.  And  presently  the  two  rescued 
ones  started  ashore  in  a  little  skiff,  with  one  of  the 
boys  at  the  oars. 


216  THE   BATTLE 

"  We'll  be  on  the  job  to-morrow,"  sang  out  Phillip 
as  they  pulled  away. 

"  Just  the  same,  it  was  a  mighty  close  call,"  re- 
marked one  of  the  air-pump  men.  And  the  treasurer 
of  the  company  cut  off  the  piece  of  hose  left  on  Atkin- 
son's helmet  and  put  it  in  the  chamber  of  curiosities. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 
HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST 

HAGGLETON  had  shown  his  natural  shrewd- 
ness in  choosing  the  bakeshop  industry  as  the 
field  of  his  operations.  There  was,  perhaps,  no  other 
business  which  offered  such  wide  possibilities  for  a 
small  capital;  they  were  sure  of  quick  results,  for 
everybody  ate  bread  and  paid  cash  for  it.  Further- 
more, the  whole  process  of  bread-making  occupied 
only  a  few  hours,  the  materials  were  of  the  simplest, 
and  there  was  a  steady  and  immediate  demand  for  the 
product,  so  that  what  was  manufactured  one  day  was 
sold  the  next.  In  other  words,  the  capital  involved 
was  turned  over  every  twenty-four  hours,  which  meant 
steadily  increasing  profits  up  to  the  limit  of  competi- 
tion. And  all  that  they  had  against  them  were  some 
little  bakeshops  making  poor  bread  under  bad  condi- 
tions and  paying  high  prices  for  materials,  whereas 
Haggleton  now  proposed  to  make  good  bread  under 
better  conditions  and  pay  moderate  prices  for  mate- 
rials. Also,  as  the  bread  from  any  one  bakery  was 
used  by  hundreds  of  families,  the  consumers  them- 
selves became  most  effective  advertisers,  so  that  any 
improvement  in  quality  or  reduction  in  price  would  be 
known  almost  immediately  throughout  the  whole  tene- 
ment region.  These  were  almost  ideal  conditions  for 
the  building  up  of  a  little  trust. 

217 


218  THE   BATTLE 

Haggleton's  plans  were  far  larger,  of  course.  He 
spoke  of  them  tentatively  to  Phillip,  adding  cautiously : 

"  But  don't  talk  about  that  yet.  We've  got  to  show 
these  fellows  substantial  profits  before  we  can  get  them 
in  deeper.  Besides,"  he  added  with  a  sharp  glance,  "  it 
won't  be  a  case  of  profit  for  all  of  them." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Haggleton  lowered  his  voice. 

"  We  have  six  bakers  in  the  combination  already. 
Within  a  week  we'll  have  ten.  Within  two  weeks  we'll 
have  all  the  bakers  around  here  tumbling  over  them- 
selves to  get  in.  Why  not,  when  they  hear  that  those 
inside  get  flour  at  ten  per  cent  less  than  the  others 
have  to  pay,  besides  big  profits  from  increased  busi- 
ness and  cheaper  production  ?  So,"  he  smiled,  "  don't 
you  see?  " 

"What?" 

"  These  outside  bakers  won't  be  able  to  stand  against 
us;  we'll  drive  them  out  of  the  field  and  absorb  their 
business.  Inside  of  six  months  half  of  the  bakeshop 
bosses  down  here  will  be  working  for  the  combina- 
tion." 

Phillip  looked  serious. 

"  Is  that — is  that  necessary  ?  " 

"  It's  the  law,"  said  Haggleton  grimly,  "  the  law  in 
big  things  and  little  things,  that  the  master  mind  rules." 

All  this  had  happened  within  so  short  a  space  of 
time,  and  had  kept  Phillip  so  busy  and  interested  that, 
aside  from  occasional  misgivings,  he  had  not  thought 
seriously  about  what  was  happening,  or  caught  its  real 
significance.  It  was  true,  his  purpose  of  showing 
Haggleton  the  phenomena  of  poverty  had  been  put 


HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST   219 

aside  for  the  moment,  but  he  would  presently  return 
to  this,  and  meantime  they  were  all  benefiting  by  the 
new  enterprise;  in  fact  it  was  a  step  toward  giving 
better  food  to  the  whole  tenement  population.  Be- 
sides, Haggleton  was  free  to  make  his  fight  against 
poverty  in  his  own  way  and — well,  he  had  chosen  a 
way  that  was  wise  and — profitable. 

No  doubt  these  arguments  advanced  by  Phillip  to 
satisfy  his  own  uneasiness  would  have  been  met  by 
other  arguments  had  Gentle  been  there  to  counsel  him, 
but  the  old  diver  had  been  away  a  great  deal  with  the 
wrecking  boats,  so  he  knew  but  little  of  these  latest 
developments.  And  it  was  not  until  the  third  week 
that  Phillip  was  really  brought  face  to  face  with  facts 
as  they  were.  This  came  about  through  his  call  on 
Margaret  after  her  return  to  Mrs.  Binney's  boarding 
house  on  the  evening  of  the  day  of  his  daring  rescue 
of  Atkinson. 

Radiantly  happy,  proud  of  her  hero,  nevertheless  the 
girl  had  realized  as  she  reflected  on  her  talk  with  Hag- 
gleton that  she  and  Phillip  were  facing  a  crisis.  The 
millionaire  had  already  partly  won  her  lover  from  her. 

A  baker's  assistant  whose  wife  Margaret  had  nursed 
through  a  protracted  illness,  a  man,  therefore,  sorely  in 
need  of  continued  employment,  had  called  on  her  and 
appealed  to  her  for  intercession.  It  was  serious  news 
that  he  brought  her,  and  it  was  presently  made  more 
serious  by  Gentle,  who  was  present.  The  news  was 
that  the  bakeshop  combination  had  done  the  assistant 
a  cruel  wrong  by  depriving  him  of  his  job  in  a  bake- 
shop on  Madison  Street.  He  was  a  victim  of  the 
kneading  machine,  cast  adrift  and  desperate,  and, 


220  THE   BATTLE 

being  ignorant  of  economics,  he  roundly  cursed  this 
admirable  improvement  in  bread-making  that  had 
thrown  him  on  the  street.  What  was  the  use  of  try- 
ing to  do  right  when  the  world  was  against  him  ?  Yes, 
he  had  been  drinking.  Why  not  ?  Wouldn't  any  man 
drink  if  he  had  been  cheated  out  of  work  like  that? 

Get  another  place?  Where?  He  had  been  to  three 
other  bakeshops  where  men  had  been  discharged  on 
account  of  the  same  damned  machine,  and  two  of  them 
fathers  of  families.  That  was  a  nice  business  for 
Phillip  Ames  to  be  in,  wasn't  it,  and  he  calling  himself 
a  friend  of  the  poor?  A  fine  friend  of  the  poor  he 
was,  taking  work  away  from  men  who  had  never  done 
him  any  harm ! 

So  he  railed  on,  and  presently  stumbled  away,  leav- 
ing a  message  that  Phillip  could  go  straight  to  a  hotter 
place  than  any  bakeshop. 

Gentle  looked  troubled.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then,  as  he  met  Margaret's  brave,  comprehending  gaze, 
he  decided  that  she  could  help,  and  that  now  was  the 
moment  to  do  it.  So  he  told  her  exactly  what  was  on 
his  mind.  There  was  an  old  proneness  in  Phillip  to 
money  love ;  it  was  a  fault  that  had  come  through  his 
father,  who  was — well,  she  knew  Mr.  Haggleton,  did 
she  not?  Phillip's  mother  was  the  finest  woman  Gen- 
tle had  ever  known,  a  true  womanly  woman.  In  some 
ways  Margaret  reminded  him  of  her,  and  he  was  sure 
she  could  influence  him  wonderfully  for  good  if  she 
understood  this  danger.  Phillip  was  full  of  the  noblest 
ideals,  his  soul  rebelled  at  the  unfairness  of  things,  he 
was  a  fighter ;  but,  alas !  he  could  fight  two  ways,  self- 
ishly and  unselfishly,  and  Gentle  felt  that  this  was  a 


HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST   221 

critical  time  in  his  development.  Had  she  not  noticed 
how  absorbed  he  was  in  this  bakeshop  scheme? 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  replied  Margaret,  remembering 
Phillip's  letters. 

"  This  is  no  little  thing,"  pursued  Gentle ;  "  I'm 
afraid  it's  significant,  like  the  awakening  of  an  old 
passion." 

"  It's  all  Mr.  Haggleton's  fault,"  declared  Margaret. 

"  Mr.  Haggleton  is  the  occasion,"  Gentle  replied 
judiciously;  "  the  cause  is  in  the  blood." 

Then  he  warned  her  that,  while  they  must  make 
every  effort  to  guide  Phillip  right,  they  must  do  it  tact- 
fully, for  he  could  be  headstrong,  if  thwarted,  and  was 
only  to  be  led  through  his  affections. 

Margaret  followed  all  this  eagerly  and  tried  to  draw 
from  Gentle  further  facts  about  Phillip's  mother. 

"  Did  she  realize  that  there  was  this  other  side  to 
him  ?  "  she  asked. 

Gentle  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  realized  it,  she  realized  it  fully.  And 
sometimes  it  frightened  her  to  think  that  with  all  her 
love  and  care  she  could  not  free  Phillip  from  this — 
this  tendency  to  be  like  his  father." 

"How  did  she  know  he  had  it?" 

"  She  knew  he  must  have  it,  and  we  had  evidences 
of  it  now  and  then  in  little  things.  Even  as  a  boy  he 
was  wonderfully  shrewd  in  making  bargains  with  other 
boys." 

"Aren't  you  taking  this  too  seriously?  After  all, 
it's  not  a  crime  to  have  business  ability.  And — haven't 
we  all  a  selfish  side  ?  I  know  I  have." 

Gentle  frowned  and  shook  his  head. 


222  THE   BATTLE 

"  Everything  depends  on  this  fight,"  he  said  impres- 
sively. "  We  had  to  have  it  and  we  may  as  well  get 
through  with  it.  But,  remember,  this  sudden  bakeshop 
interest  is  only  a  sign  that  the  worldly,  selfish  Phillip 
is  struggling  to  assert  himself.  And  I  tell  you,  Miss 
Lawrence " 

"  You  were  to  call  me  Margaret,"  she  smiled. 

"  I  tell  you,  Margaret,"  he  went  on  with  increasing 
earnestness,  "  there  is  so  much  at  stake  here,  so  much 
that — well,  the  selfish  Phillip  must  not  win,  the  other 
Phillip,  his  mother's  son,  must  win." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  cried  Margaret. 

"  And  with  your  help  he  can  win,  but  we  mustn't 
forget  that  the  enemy  is  there  to  be  reckoned  with." 

"  You  mean  his  father's  son  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Gentle. 

Thus  prepared,  Margaret  intended  to  have  a  serious 
talk  with  Phillip  when  he  called  that  evening,  but  when 
he  came  she  was  quite  disarmed  by  his  attitude  of  fond- 
ness and  submission.  He  did  not  argue  nor  defend 
himself,  but  at  once  admitted  that  he  had  been  too 
much  absorbed  by  this  bakeshop  affair;  the  thought 
had  come  to  him  the  night  before  as  he  lay  rejoicing 
in  her  precious  promise,  and  resolving  to  live  such  a 
life  as  she  would  approve.  Besides,  now  that  the 
enterprise  was  fairly  started,  he  could  soon  leave  it 
safely  to  "  Mr.  Jackson."  As  for  the  discharged 
baker,  he  would  see  that  he  got  his  job  again.  And, 
without  fail,  he  would  set  apart  certain  hours  every 
day,  say  in  the  afternoon  or  evening,  for  their  great 
purpose ;  that  is,  the  further  enlightenment  of  Haggle- 
ton  about  the  sufferings  and  miseries  of  the  poor. 


HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST   223 

Margaret  was  delighted,  and  said  to  herself  that, 
after  all,  there  would  be  no  such  trouble  as  Gentle  had 
foreseen.  She  bade  him  good  night  in  a  glow  of  deli- 
cious, almost  intoxicating  happiness. 

But  Margaret  did  not  yet  understand  the  complexi- 
ties of  Phillip's  nature,  nor  fully  realize  how  subtle  was 
the  influence  which  Haggleton  had  gained  over  him  in 
these  days  of  close  intimacy.  Gentle,  however,  saw 
it  plainly,  and  resolved  that  from  now  on  he  would 
be  with  Phillip  constantly,  even  to  the  neglect  of  his 
work,  and  oppose  Haggleton's  increasing  power  over 
the  boy's  mind  by  his  own  love  and  watchfulness.  It 
should  be  a  struggle  between  two  fathers,  as  it  were, 
for  the  soul  of  this  young  man. 

In  furtherance  of  his  good  intentions  Phillip  had  a 
talk  with  Haggleton  the  next  morning,  Gentle  being 
present,  and  they  made  it  clear  to  the  millionaire  that 
his  bakeshop  activities  ought  not  to  take  his  attention 
from  the  problems  of  poverty.  After  all,  that  was  the 
reason  for  his  presence  there  and  the  justification  for 
this  whole  experiment. 

Haggleton  replied  that  the  ordinary  poor  man  was 
supposed  to  have  enough  to  do  making  a  living  with- 
out studying  sociology.  To  which  Gentle  objected 
that  Haggleton  was  not  an  ordinary  poor  man,  and 
Phillip  added  that,  anyway,  he  could  easily  study 
poverty  for  an  hour  or  two  every  day  and  do  his 
bakeshop  work  besides. 

The  talk  inevitably  drifted,  right  then  and  there,  into 
a  discussion  of  the  surroundings  in  which  laboring 
men  worked  in  general,  and  the  helpers  of  the  combine 
in  particular. 


224  THE   BATTLE 

"  They  ought  to  have  shorter  hours,"  declared 
Phillip,  "  with  time  for  exercise  and  pleasure,  and 
employers  should  be  required  by  law  to  protect  them 
from  injury  and  disease." 

There  was  a  ring  of  conviction  in  his  voice,  and 
Gentle  looked  at  Haggleton  with  a  challenging  smile. 
The  millionaire  understood  by  this  that  hostilities  were 
declared  between  them  and  smiled  back  confidently. 
After  all,  this  was  his  son  and,  with  a  little  wise  guid- 
ance, there  was  no  danger  of  his  accepting  any  foolish 
sentimental  standards. 

"  How  can  employers  prevent  injuries  and  dis- 
ease ?  "  he  asked. 

"  By  creating  healthful  conditions  of  work  and 
by  using  proper  safety  appliances,"  answered  Gentle. 
"  These  appliances  exist  in  all  dangerous  trades,  but 
employers  refuse  to  put  them  in  because  they  cost 
money." 

Haggleton  thought  a  moment  and  then  asked  sharp- 
ly :  "  Do  you  think  there  is  any  appliance  that  would 
keep  bakers  from  breathing  flour  dust  ?  " 

"  Why — er  " — answered  Gentle,  taken  aback — "  I 
don't  know." 

"It  isn't  likely,  is  it?  And  yet,  we've  got  to  have 
bread.  Besides,"  he  added,  looking  at  Phillip,  "  sup- 
pose there  was  such  an  appliance  and  it  cost  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  could  we  afford  it?" 

"  Not  just  now,"  said  Phillip. 

"  Ah,"  laughed  Haggleton,  "  that's  the  way  with  lots 
of  things — we  can't  afford  them — just  now.  It's  easy 
to  condemn  big  corporations,  but,  when  you  come  down 
to  it,  the  people  who  do  the  condemning  are  built  on 


HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST   225 

the  same  plan,  they  want  to  do  fine  things,  but  they 
can't  afford  to — just  now." 

No  more  was  said  at  the  moment,  but  that  evening, 
in  the  Moran  home,  Gentle  produced  scrapbooks  con- 
taining facts  for  Haggleton's  further  edification.  Phil- 
lip stood  at  the  window  all  aglow  with  the  joy  of 
strength  and  youth,  thinking  of  Margaret  and  happy 
in  the  knowledge  that  he  had  done  her  bidding  that 
day.  Haggleton  and  Gentle  watched  him  in  jealous 
admiration  and  girded  themselves  for  the  struggle.  It 
was  for  him  that  they  were  fighting. 

"  I'd  like  to  show  you  some  statements,"  began  Gen- 
tle, opening  one  of  the  scrapbooks,  "  that  bear  on  what 
we  were  speaking  of  this  afternoon." 

"  You  mean  safety  devices  ?  "  asked  Haggleton. 

"  Yes,  and  the  accidents  that  happen  for  the  want 
of  them.  You're  a  great  railroad  magnate,  one  of 
seven  men  who  own  or  control  most  of  the  railroads 
in  the  United  States,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  that,"  objected  Haggleton.  "  I  have 
some  influence  in  railroad  matters,  but " 

"  Yes,  you  have  some  influence,"  said  Gentle  dryly. 
"  Let  it  go  at  that.  Do  you  know  how  many  people 
your  railroads  kill  and  injure  every  year?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Haggleton. 

"  I  have  the  figures  here,"  said  Gentle,  pointing  to 
the  scrapbook.  "  And  they  show  that  in  the  year  just 
past  you  and  your  fellow-magnates  killed  over  ten 
thousand  persons  on  the  railroads  of  the  United  States. 
You  killed  Jenny's  husband — that's  the  truth,  Mr. 
Haggleton.  You  may  ask  why  I  dwell  on  railroad 
accidents  when  our  problem  is  poverty  ?  Because  there 


226  THE   BATTLE 

is  a  terrible  relation  between  the  two.  You  speak 
contemptuously  of  those  who  have  failed  in  life,  you 
like  to  think  that  the  million  or  more  in  this  city  who 
are  in  poverty  are  there  by  their  own  fault.  I  want 
you  to  know  that  thousands  of  them  are  there  because 
you  railway  kings  have  failed  to  do  your  duty." 

Haggleton  made  an  angry  gesture  and  started  to 
speak,  but  Gentle  lifted  his  hand. 

"  Let  me  finish.  In  the  past  year  over  eighty  thou- 
sand persons  were  injured  by  railway  accidents  in  the 
United  States,  and  most  of  them  poor  people!  Four 
fifths  of  them  your  own  employees!  Think  of  that! 
Eighty  thousand  crippled  and  maimed  in  one  of  your 
enterprises!  There  is  part  of  your  magnate  handi- 
work; you  take  these  workingmen  into  your  service, 
these  passengers  into  your  trains,  you  accept  their 
toil  or  their  money,  and  then,  instead  of  protecting 
them  by  safety  appliances  that  are  perfectly  well  known 
and  in  constant  use  abroad,  you  torture  them  in  crim- 
inal wrecks,  you  burn  them,  you  scald  them,  you  tear 
off  their  hands  or  feet,  you  crush  their  legs  or  arms, 
you  wrench  their  backs,  you  fracture  their  skulls; 
you  do  this  to  little  children,  to  loving  mothers,  to 
young  men ;  you  do  it  every  day  of  the  year  to  over 
two  hundred  of  your  countrymen !  " 

Then  Gentle  read  extracts  from  various  newspapers 
charging  American  railroads  with  gross  incompetence 
and  neglect,  and  demanding  that  directors  and  high 
officials  be  put  in  jail  for  these  offenses  against  hu- 
man life. 

"That's  talk!"  snapped  Haggleton,  "and  it  will 
stay  talk." 


HAGGLETON'S    BAKERY   TRUST      227 

Gentle  faced  him  with  his  old  irritating  smile. 

"  Do  you  consider  America  behind  Europe  in  in- 
telligence? Or  behind  Europe  in  wealth  or  resource- 
fulness?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Then  why  is  it  that  in  a  given  number  of  railway 
employees,  America  kills  nearly  three  times  as  many 
as  England,  and  injures  five  times  as  many?" 

"  America  is  a  bigger  country,  with  ten  miles  of 
railroad  where  England  has  one  mile." 

Gentle  shook  his  head. 

"  I  made  allowances  for  that — I  said  we  killed  more 
in  proportion." 

"  Our  people  are  in  a  hurry ;  they  insist  on  going 
fast,  and  that  increases  the  danger." 

"  Pardon  me,"  replied  Gentle,  "  the  fastest  trains 
in  the  world  are  in  Europe.  But  it's  true  our  people 
are  in  a  hurry.  If  they  were  not  they  would  take 
time  to  think  about  these  things,  and  when  they  found 
that  we  are  twenty  years  behind  England  and  Ger- 
many and  France  in  safety  appliances,  for  we  are, 
and  when  they  realized  that  this  is  true,  simply  because 
you  men  in  control  refuse  to  spend  the  money  required 
to  pay  for  these  appliances — if  our  people  realized 
all  that,  they  would  possibly  put  the  blame  where  it 
belongs." 

"  You  talk  like  a  child,"  retorted  Haggleton ;  "  you 
know  nothing  about  conditions." 

"No?  I  know  this,  that  for  years  you  magnates 
fought  against  air  brakes  and  automatic  couplers,  al- 
though you  knew  they  would  save  thousands  of  lives ; 
now  you're  fighting  the  system  of  block  signals  that 


228  THE   BATTLE 

is  used  everywhere  in  England,  and  that  would  save 
thousands  of  lives  more." 

"  We  have  block  signals  on  some  railroads,"  in- 
sisted Haggleton. 

"  On  very  few,  and  where  you  have  them  you  don't 
use  them  half  the  time.  Your  own  engineers  have 
admitted  that  when  forced  to  testify  about  accidents." 

"If  we  had  to  run  freight  trains  under  strict  block 
signals  we'd  never  get  our  business  done,"  snorted  the 
millionaire.  "  Think  of  the  freight  piling  up  all  over 
this  country,  millions  and  millions  of  dollars'  worth, 
far  beyond  what  the  roads  can  handle  and  much  of 
it  perishable.  We've  promised  to  move  it,  and  we've 
got  to  move  it,  haven't  we?" 

"  No,  sir,"  flashed  Phillip,  "  not  if  it  means  destroy- 
ing lives." 

"  Besides,"  resumed  Gentle,  "  it's  not  only  in  rail- 
roading that  you  slaughter  people,  it's  the  same  in 
mining  and  building  and  manufacturing.  Here's  an 
article,"  he  turned  to  another  page,  "  that  estimates 
at  over  half  a  million  a  year  our  casualties  in  various 
industries  largely  controlled  by  your  trusts.  Half  a 
million  killed  and  injured  every  year  and  the  greater 
part  needlessly!  How?  By  dangerous  machinery 
in  your  factories  that  might  be  protected,  by  wheels 
and  saws  and  flying  belts  that  might  be  covered,  by 
poisonous  fumes  and  deadly  dust  that  might  be  guarded 
against;  by  explosions  in  your  mines  that  might  be 
avoided,  by  falls,  by  fires,  by  insidious  disease,  by  a 
hundred  perils  that  beset  your  toilers,  all  of  which 
might  be  lessened  or  removed,  but  for  one  thing." 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Haggleton. 


HAGGLETON'S  BAKERY  TRUST   229 

Gentle  seemed  not  to  hear ;  his  kind,  thoughtful  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Phillip  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  the 
boy's  soul. 

"  Half  a  million  killed  and  injured  every  year!  "  he 
went  on  sadly.  "  Nine  times  the  total  loss  in  the  battle 
of  Waterloo!  Nearly  all  of  them  workingmen  in 
the  prime  of  life,  wage-earners  whose  injury  means 
distress  or  ruin  to  a  family !  Think  of  the  poor  wives ! 
The  helpless  children !  More  recruits  for  poverty ! 
More  tenement  misery!  More  wrecks!  And  the 
greater  part  of  this  immense  harm  might  be  averted 
but  for  one  thing." 

"  Yes?  "  said  Phillip  eagerly.    "  What  is  that?  " 

Gentle  looked  steadily  at  Haggleton. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No." 

Then,  slowly  and  impressively,  the  old  diver  spoke. 

"  I  am  not  exaggerating,  I  have  studied  this  ques- 
tion. I  have  lived  it,  and  I  tell  you,  sir,  you  are  de- 
fending a  bad  cause.  You  know  that  three  fourths  of 
these  accidents  might  be  avoided  and  all  this  wretched- 
ness and  pain  be  spared  us,  and  this  enormous  waste  of 
human  energy  prevented  if  you  great  captains  of  in- 
dustry had  not  made  up  your  minds  that  it's  cheaper 
to  kill  men  than  to  protect  them." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

CAPITAL  AND   LABOR 

THEY  talked  on  for  hours.  And  now  Haggle- 
ton,  angered  and  at  bay,  took  refuge  in  brutal 
truth  and  admitted  that  kings  of  American  finance 
were  very  much  like  other  Americans  in  this,  that  they 
thought  first  and  last  of  their  own  interests. 

Gentle  was  delighted  with  the  result  of  this  talk. 
He  had  forced  Haggleton  to  throw  aside  all  pretense 
that  very  rich  men  like  himself  were  genuinely  inter- 
ested in  the  good  of  the  people,  and  to  admit  that  they 
were,  as  a  class,  striving  selfishly  for  their  own  ad- 
vantage, regardless  of  wretched  and  downtrodden  mil- 
lions. It  was  true,  as  Haggleton  had  pointed  out  in 
reply  to  Phillip's  look  of  reproach,  that  rich  men,  once 
they  had  accumulated  their  fortunes,  were  glad  to 
distribute  part  of  them,  often  a  large  part,  in  generous 
works,  colleges,  libraries,  and  hospitals,  but  they  did 
this  of  their  own  free  will,  and  would  tolerate  no  in- 
terference with  their  methods  of  making  these  for- 
tunes. 

To  which  Phillip  had  replied  scornfully :  "  We  re- 
fuse to  be  impressed,  sir,  by  any  such  acts  of  partial 
restitution.  The  question  is,  how  you  got  the  millions 
that  you  give  back  so  grandly." 

This  was  the  real  Phillip  speaking,  and  Gentle  felt 
230 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  231 

that  already  he  had  done  much  to  destroy  Haggleton's 
influence  over  the  boy ;  he  had  torn  away  the  hypo- 
critical mask  of  benevolence  worn  by  many  million- 
aires and  had  shown  this  millionaire  to  his  son  as  a 
hateful  monster,  whose  chief  purpose  in  life  was  to 
gratify  an  insatiable  greed  for  wealth  and  power.  Now 
he  must  go  farther  and  influence  Phillip  to  some  de- 
cisive step  that  would  put  him  back  once  for  all  on 
the  solid  ground  of  his  nobler  aspirations.  And  the 
opportunity  to  do  this  came  presently  through  develop- 
ments in  the  bakeshop  enterprise. 

Things  were  going  well  with  the  combination,  two 
new  bakers  had  been  taken  in,  business  was  steadily 
increasing  and,  in  view  of  substantial  profits,  they  were 
already  thinking  of  getting  a  second  kneading  ma- 
chine and  widening  their  field  of  operations  when  an 
interesting  proposition  was  made  by  a  baker  in  For- 
syth  Street.  This  enterprising  gentleman,  seeing  the 
rapid  advance  of  the  little  trust,  and  realizing  that  his 
own  trade  was  threatened,  now  proposed  to  join  them 
with  bakers  enough  from  his  neighborhood  (about  a 
dozen),  and  capital  enough,  so  that  the  combination, 
thus  strengthened,  could  immediately  set  up  two  more 
kneading  machines  and,  by  perfecting  its  methods,  bid 
successfully  for  the  whole  bakeshop  business  of  the 
lower  East  Side.  Haggleton  was  in  favor  of  this, 
but  Gentle  saw  a  chance  here  to  raise  an  important 
issue  of  right  and  wrong  in  Phillip's  mind. 

So  without  delay  the  old  diver  called  upon  Margaret 
and  laid  the  facts  before  her.  A  dozen  new  bakeshops 
in  the  combination  would  mean  many  men  thrown  out 
of  work  and  their  families  left  in  distress.  This  was 


232  THE   BATTLE 

a  bad  thing  in  itself  and  would  surely  have  a  bad 
effect  upon  Phillip;  it  would  harden  him.  Margaret 
quite  agreed  with  Gentle  and  listened  with  sympathy 
as  he  told  her  various  stories  of  distress  already  caused 
by  Haggleton's  enterprise. 

Margaret  promised  that  all  her  influence  with  Phillip 
should  be  used  to  make  him  oppose  the  new  plan,  and 
when  he  called  that  evening  she  made  so  eloquent  an 
appeal  for  mothers  and  little  children  who  would  suf- 
fer, that  Phillip  was  genuinely  moved,  and  assured 
her  the  Forsyth  Street  proposition  would  be  at  once 
rejected.  Also  that,  of  all  gloriously  beautiful  and 
fascinating  women  now  upon  the  earth,  she  certainly 
was  the  most  fascinating  and  the  most  beautiful,  while 
he  was  the  most  unworthy,  though  the  gratefulest,  of 
lovers. 

In  spite  of  this  good  beginning,  it  was  not  fated  that 
Margaret  and  Gentle  should  gain  so  easy  a  victory 
over  Haggleton.  When  the  millionaire  heard  of  Phil- 
lip's decision  and  the  reason  for  it,  he  promptly  pointed 
out  that,  if  they  rejected  this  offer,  the  Forsyth  Street 
baker  would  probably  go  ahead  and  form  an  opposi- 
tion enterprise,  which  would  not  only  throw  men  out 
of  employment,  but  would  injure  their  own  combina- 
tion. In  other  words,  they  would  lose  a  substantial 
advantage  without  helping  anything. 

Phillip  listened  uneasily  and  was  forced  to  admit 
the  soundness  of  this  opinion,  but  he  had  given  his 
promise  to  Margaret  and  could  not  retract  it  without 
her  consent.  So  he  asked  for  time  to  think  the  matter 
over,  and  puzzled  for  hours  trying  to  find  some  way 
of  satisfying  his  business  sense  without  displeasing 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  233 

Margaret.  And,  having  failed  to  find  such  a  way, 
he  had  about  decided  to  please  her  anyhow  and  let  the 
combination  suffer,  when  an  unfortunate  discussion 
between  Gentle  and  Haggleton  brought  him  suddenly 
to  a  different  state  of  mind. 

Gentle  was  so  pleased  with  the  progress  of  things 
that  he  could  not  refrain  from  pushing  his  advantage, 
and  that  evening  he  turned  the  talk  upon  a  subject 
where  he  felt  himself  particularly  strong  and  Haggle- 
ton  indefensibly  weak;  that  is,  the  unfair  division  of 
the  products  of  toil.  What  right  had  an  employer,  he 
asked,  to  keep  a  woman  sewing  carpets  all  day  and 
then  take  half  of  what  she  earned  ?  Suppose  the  wom- 
an did  the  work  at  a  private  house,  as  often  hap- 
pened. Then  her  employer  charged  the  owner  of  the 
carpets  say  three  dollars  a  day  for  the  woman's  serv- 
ices, and  gave  her  a  dollar  and  a  half.  That  was  not 
fair.  The  employer's  part  in  this  effort  was  too  small 
to  justify  him  in  keeping  so  much  of  her  earnings.  It 
was  the  woman  who  did  the  work  and  breathed  carpet 
dust  and  took  chances  of  infection;  the  employer 
merely  secured  her  the  job  and  furnished  needle  and 
thread.  Seventy-five  cents  of  the  three  dollars  was 
certainly  enough  for  him,  and,  if  he  took  a  dollar  and 
a  half,  it  was  because  the  woman  was  helpless,  possibly 
hungry,  and  because  there  were  hundreds  of  other 
women  who  would  gladly  take  her  place  for  a  dollar 
and  a  half  or  less.  In  other  words,  he  was  strong 
and  she  was  weak,  and  he  took  what  was  rightfully 
hers  because  he  was  able  to  do  it. 

Gentle  contended  that  this  was  precisely  the  situa- 
tion between  capital  and  labor  all  over  the  country, 


234  THE   BATTLE 

the  capitalist  taking  about  half  of  what  the  laborer 
earned,  whereas  a  fair  division,  each  taking  what  was 
right,  would  leave  the  rich  quite  rich  enough,  would 
increase  the  savings  of  the  poor  by  hundreds  of  mil- 
lions a  year,  and  practically  do  away  with  poverty. 

Was  it  not  a  monstrous  injustice,  he  went  on,  that 
a  few  hundred  New  Yorkers  should  every  year  draw 
from  vast  unearned  fortunes  an  income  aggregating 
more  than  the  total  yearly  earnings  of  a  million  fellow 
citizens  born  in  poverty?  For  it  was  literally  true, 
he  declared,  that  the  whole  body  of  poorest  tene- 
ment dwellers  on  Manhattan,  all  who  were  herded  in 
the  vast  human  hives  that  stretched  for  miles  along 
the  rivers,  all  those  miserable  ones  who  toiled  cease- 
lessly summer  and  winter,  every  day  and  many  nights, 
could  scarcely,  by  their  united  efforts,  earn  as  much 
as  was  dropped  into  the  laps  of  some  scores  of  idlers 
whose  palaces  rose  scornfully  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

If  Gentle  had  stopped  here  all  might  have  been  well, 
for  Phillip  agreed  with  him  thoroughly  so  far,  but,  in 
the  elation  of  triumph,  he  ventured  upon  socialistic 
ground  where,  as  Haggleton  divined  by  a  flash  of  in- 
tuition, the  young  man  could  not  follow  him.  Indeed, 
it  had  long  been  a  source  of  regret  to  the  old  diver 
that  Phillip  would  not  take  very  seriously  his  dreams 
of  a  beautiful  industrial  republic,  soon  to  be  realized, 
according  to  him.  And  this  was  Haggleton's  advan- 
tage, as  he  immediately  understood,  for  Gentle  would 
not  repudiate  his  economic  faith,  even  at  the  risk  of 
losing  credit  with  Phillip. 

So  presently  the  tables  were  turned,  and  Gentle 
found  himself  under  a  fire  of  searching  questions  by 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  235 

Haggleton.  Did  he  believe,  for  instance,  that  the  pres- 
ent division  of  wealth  which  seemed  to  him  so  iniqui- 
tous would  one  day  be  replaced  by  a  fairer  division? 
Undoubtedly.  How  would  the  new  division  be  accom- 
plished? By  the  will  of  the  people.  Yes,  but  how? 
Take  the  railroads,  who  would  own  them?  The  peo- 
ple. The  people  would  take  the  railroads  ?  Yes.  And 
pay  for  them  ?  They  had  paid  for  them  already.  How 
was  that?  They  built  them,  they  forged  the  steel, 
they  hewed  the  timbers,  they  did  the  work.  H'm! 
Then  the  eleven  billions  or  so  that  the  railroads  were 
valued  at  would  never  be  paid  to  the  present  owners? 
Never.  And  the  present  owners  would  get  nothing  for 
them?  Gentle  replied  that  they  would  have  the  same 
share  in  the  common  possessions  of  the  State  that  all 
other  citizens  would  have.  And  nothing  more  ?  Noth- 
ing more! 

Haggleton  glanced  at  Phillip  and  saw  that  he  was 
frowning. 

"  Will  it  be  the  same  with  the  land  ?  "  pursued  the 
old  man.  "  Will  you  socialists  simply  take  it  and 
make  no  compensation  to  present  holders  ?  " 

"Why  discuss  this?"  objected  Gentle. 

"Why  not  discuss  it?"  replied  Haggleton  sharply. 
"  You've  had  your  say  about  our  scheme  of  robbery, 
why  shouldn't  I  have  a  word  about  yours  ?  Of  course, 
if  you're  ashamed  of  it " 

"  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it,"  declared  Gentle. 

Haggleton  smiled. 

"  Good !  Then  how  about  the  land  ?  You'll  take  it, 
won't  you,  in  your  socialist  State  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


236  THE    BATTLE 

"And  pay  for  it?" 

"  I  tell  you  we  have  paid  for  it  over  and  over  again." 

"  I  know  it,  but — will  you  pay  for  it  in  any  other 
way?" 

"  No." 

"  And  the  great  industries  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  of  no  use  to  you.  Conditions  will  be 
so  bad  you  will  beg  us  to  take  them." 

"For  nothing?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  if,  by  any  chance,  we  don't  beg  you  to  take 
them — then  you'll  take  them  anyway  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

As  he  put  these  questions  Haggleton  watched  Phillip 
and  saw  that  he  was  ill  at  ease,  not  wishing  to  seem 
disloyal  to  Gentle,  yet  far  from  agreeing  to  this  plan 
of  wholesale  appropriation. 

"  Do  you  call  that  fair  ? "  asked  the  millionaire, 
turning  abruptly  to  Phillip. 

"  No,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  don't." 

A  little  later  Phillip  looked  at  his  watch  and  said 
he  was  going  out.  He  had  an  engagement  with  Mar- 
garet, and  on  his  way  to  the  boarding  house  he  turned 
over  in  his  mind  what  he  should  say  to  her.  It  had 
suddenly  become  clear  to  him  that  he  could  not  trust 
Gentle's  judgment  beyond  a  certain  point;  also  that 
Margaret's  position  about  the  bakeshops  had  been  too 
strongly  taken  for  it  to  have  been  original  with  her. 
Gentle  must  have  influenced  her  to  this  rather  senti- 
mental attitude,  and  as  to  his  promise,  well,  it  was  his 
duty  now  to  take  a  calm  view  of  the  whole  matter. 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  237 

Margaret  would  surely  be  reasonable  when  she  un- 
derstood things,  and  he  called  to  mind  with  approval 
the  points  that  Haggleton  had  made  against  their 
well-meant,  but  probably  foolish  decision.  Evidently 
a  successful  business  had  to  rest  on  something  more 
solid  than  kind  intentions. 

Margaret  greeted  her  lover  with  happy  animation 
and  inquired  eagerly  if  the  matter  had  been  arranged. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Phillip,  and  the  gravity  of  his 
manner  surprised  her.  "  I  wouldn't  take  definite  ac- 
tion without  consulting  you." 

"  But  you  have  consulted  me,"  she  said ;  "  we  talked 
it  all  over  last  evening  and — I  thought  it  was  settled." 

Their  eyes  met  in  a  look  that  warned  each  one  of 
an  approaching  crisis. 

"  Tell  me,  did  Gentle  talk  to  you  about  those  bake- 
shops?"  asked  Phillip. 

"  Why— er " 

"Did  he?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Margaret,  "  but — how  strange  you 
are!" 

Phillip  brightened  as  his  eyes  rested  on  her.  She 
had  put  on  her  prettiest  dress  and  arranged  her  hair 
in  his  particular  honor,  and  now,  with  this  shadow  of 
half  perplexity  on  her  lovely  face,  she  was  deliciously 
charming. 

"  Suppose  we  sit  over  here,"  he  said,  "  and  you  show 
me  what  a  sweet  wise  girl  you  can  be." 

He  led  her  to  the  queer  old  lounge  with  its  red-rose 
pattern  and  there  they  faced  each  other,  half  smiling, 
half  serious. 

For  a  little  while  it  was  the  old  wonderful  story 


238  THE    BATTLE 

again  with  bakeshop  worries  forgotten  and  this  queer, 
dingy  sitting  room  changed  into  a  beautiful  and  hal- 
lowed place,  since  it  witnessed  the  awakening  in  these 
two  of  the  eternal  joys  of  youth  and  passion. 

But  presently  the  difference  of  opinion  that  had 
sprung  up  between  them  insisted  upon  obtruding 
itself. 

"  Why  were  you  so  serious  when  you  came  in  ?  " 
Margaret  asked,  and  straightway  Phillip  became  seri- 
ous once  more. 

"  We  have  made  a  mistake,  dear,  in  one  thing,"  he 
said,  "  and  I — I  know  you'll  be  sensible  about  it." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  You  mean  about  what  we  decided  last  night  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You're  not  going  to  accept  that  man's  offer  ?  " 

"  Listen,  Margaret,"  he  reasoned ;  "  if  we  don't  join 
with  that  man  he  will  form  a  combination  against  us. 
That  is  certain.  So  the  same  number  of  bakers  will  be 
discharged  either  way  and,  if  we  force  him  to  oppose 
us,  we  shall  suffer  serious  loss  in  our  business.  Do 
you  see?" 

Margaret  did  not  see.  She  was  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed. She  had  counted  on  Phillip's  influence  against 
this  cruel  combination  and  now  he  was  thinking  only 
of  the  money.  Really,  it  was  too  bad ! 

"  But,  Margaret,"  he  insisted,  "  we  must  have 
money,  and,  surely,  you  want  me  to  think  about  the 
future?" 

"  Not  if  it  means  harming  poor  people." 

Phillip  frowned. 

"  I  tell  you  the  same  harm  will  be  done,  anyway. 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  239 

And  the  men  discharged  will  soon  find  other  work. 
Besides,  think  of  the  good  we  are  doing.  That  far 
outweighs  any  temporary  inconvenience  to  a  few 
families." 

"  What  good  are  you  doing?  " 

"  What  good  ?  Why,  we're  working  a  regular  revo- 
lution in  bread-making.  You  may  say  what  you  please 
about  Mr.  Jackson,  but " 

"  I  hate  him !  "  interrupted  Margaret. 

"  Anyway,  he  has  changed  these  bakeshops  so  you 
would  scarcely  know  them.  He  insists  on  absolute 
cleanliness — floors  and  walls  must  be  scrubbed  every 
day,  windows  must  be  kept  open  for  proper  ventilation, 
defective  plumbing  must  be  repaired,  no  sick  man  may 
be  employed,  and  any  baker  found  spitting  on  the 
floor — it's  not  very  nice  to  talk  about,  but  they  used 
to  do  it  all  the  time — any  such  man  is  fined,  and  for 
a  second  offense  is  discharged." 

"  I  suppose  that's  a  good  thing,"  she  admitted. 

"A  good  thing?  It  may  save  hundreds  of  lives, 
besides  setting  an  example  for  the  whole  East  Side." 

Margaret  listened  unconvinced. 

"  Don't  do  it,  Phillip,"  she  begged.  "  Don't  go  into 
this  new  combination.  Leave  things  as  they  are.  If 
this  Forsyth  Street  baker  wants  to  form  a  combination 
and  discharge  all  these  men,  let  him  do  it  alone.  Why 
need  you  take  part  in  it  ?  " 

"  But  I  explained  that " 

"  I  know,  only — Phil,  you  won't  refuse  me  this — 
the  first  favor  I  have  asked  you  ?  " 

Phillip  hesitated. 

"  See  here,   Margaret,   when  a  man  and  woman 


240  THE   BATTLE 

marry,  there  are  certain  things  that  each  one  knows 
about,  aren't  there  ?  A  woman  knows  about  the  home 
and  a  man  knows  about  business.  And  each  must 
respect  the  other's  judgment  ia  those  matters.  Isn't 
that  true  ?  " 

"  Ye— es." 

"  Now,  I'm  the  wage-earner,"  he  went  on  quickly. 
"  I  provide  the  money  and  you  must  leave  money  mat- 
ters to  me." 

Margaret  watched  him  closely  and,  as  he  spoke,  she 
saw  the  suspicion  of  a  hard  look  in  his  eyes.  And  she 
knew  what  that  meant,  she  remembered  what  Gentle 
had  told  her.  Perhaps  this  was  a  decisive  moment 
in  Phillip's  life,  the  turning  point  where  a  last  effort 
of  hers  might  keep  him  right. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  she  said.  "  I  think  a 
wife  should  know  about  her  husband's  work  so  that 
she  can  advise  him  and  help  him.  And  I  don't  want 
you  to  be  absorbed  by  money  matters.  If  you  were, 
then  your  thoughts  would  be  taken  from  the  serious 
purposes  that — that  we  both  care  about  so  much." 

She  spoke  with  emotion  now  and  looked  at  Phillip, 
her  eyes  full  of  a  warm  and  soft  appeal. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  man 
must  decide  about  business.  I'm  sure  of  that.  And 
the  woman  must  not  interfere." 

He  spoke  firmly,  and  she  realized  that  it  was  his 
father's  son  who  was  opposing  her. 

"  Then,"  she  murmured,  "  then  you  are  not  the 
Phillip  I  thought  you  were." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  long  silence. 

And  now  in  Margaret's  heart  there  came  a  sudden 


CAPITAL   AND   LABOR  241 

fear.  Perhaps  this  selfish  side  in  her  lover  was  stronger 
than  she  had  imagined.  Perhaps  it  was  too  strong 
for  her.  Surely  she  had  not  asked  very  much.  She 
would  do  anything  for  him,  and  he  might  at  least  do 
this  for  her.  It  was  right,  it  was  best  for  him,  and 
she  wanted  it.  These  were  reasons  enough,  and  if  an 
issue  must  come  between  them — let  it  come. 

"  Phillip,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  dignity,  "  I  ask 
you  once  more  not  to  do  this  thing." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  that." 

"  I  not  only  ask  it,  I  insist  upon  it." 

"You  insist?" 

"  Yes." 

There  was  another  silence. 

"  And — and  if  I  refuse  it  ?  "  he  asked  unsteadily. 

"  You  won't  refuse,  you  can't  refuse,"  she  pleaded. 
And  then,  as  she  saw  his  face  still  cold :  "  If  you 
should  refuse,  then — then,  Phil,  I  should  say  that — 
that  you  had  changed  somehow  and  were  not  the 
noble,  high-minded  man  to  whom  I  gave  my  love." 

Phillip's  lips  tightened.  He,  too,  realized  that  they 
were  facing  a  crisis.  It  might  be  the  turning  of  the 
ways,  and  his  father's  spirit  of  domination  in  him 
suddenly  cried  out  for  the  mastery. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  we  seem  to 
have  made  something  serious  out  of  a  little  thing.  But, 
since  we  have  done  it,  let  me  say  this,  I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart ;  I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife ;  I  will 
work  for  you  gladly  and  do  everything  in  my  power 
to  make  you  happy ;  but  you  may  as  well  understand 
now,  once  for  all,  that,  as  a  man,  I  claim  the  right  of 
deciding  what  shall  be  done  at  important  moments. 


242  THE   BATTLE 

I  may  make  mistakes,  although  I  shall  try  to  decide 
wisely,  but  whether  I  make  mistakes  or  not,  what  I 
decide  is  the  thing  that  shall  be." 

"  And  you  have  decided  to  do  this  ?  "  she  questioned, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  Wait !  Think ! 
You  have  decided  to  do  this,  Phil,  against  my  positive 
wish?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Phillip,  "  I  have." 


CHAPTER   XX 

MORAN    FINDS   JENNY 

THE  bakery  trust  continued  to  flourish.  The 
tension  between  Margaret,  Haggleton,  and  Gen- 
tle increased  with  its  growth.  Each  of  these  three 
felt  that  the  decisive  battle  was  approaching,  that  they 
must  be  ready  at  any  moment  now  for  the  final  struggle 
for  the  possession  of  Phillip,  body  and  soul.  But  of 
the  three  only  Haggleton  felt  confident  of  victory. 

Phillip's  decision,  that  in  business  matters  he  must 
follow  his  own  judgment,  had  been  a  sore  blow  to 
Margaret.  Gentle,  to  whom  she  had  told  the  outcome 
of  their  momentous  talk,  felt  discouraged,  especially 
as  he  had  deluded  himself  with  the  belief  that  he 
had  regained  much  of  the  ground  that  had  been  lost 
in  his  discussion  with  Haggleton  of  the  tyranny  of 
capital  over  labor.  Margaret  resolutely  pinned  her 
waning  faith  to  the  power  of  love.  Meanwhile,  these 
two  had  loyally  kept  the  secret  of  Phillip's  relation- 
ship to  the  millionaire,  tempted  though  they  had  been 
to  betray  it  when  Haggleton  had  been  so  radiantly 
happy,  so  touchingly  proud  of  the  boy's  brilliant  ex- 
ploit in  saving  the  endangered  diver,  which  had  fur- 
nished the  leading  story  of  the  afternoon's  papers. 
Divided  as  they  were — bitter  adversaries — they  yet 
had  felt  that  they  had  one  thing  in  common,  which 

243 


244  THE   BATTLE 

drew  them  closer  together,  notwithstanding  their  dif- 
ferences— their  love  of  Phillip. 

The  Moran  apartment  had  undergone  still  another 
change.  It  was  an  office  now,  brilliantly  lighted,  for 
Haggleton's  suggestion  that  the  two  windows  facing 
the  East  River  should  be  joined  into  one  large  ob- 
servation window  had  been  carried  out.  Under  this 
window  was  a  wide  shelf,  covered  with  flowers.  The 
room  contained  a  high  desk  and  stool  for  bookkeeping 
— Moran's  department — a  roll-top  desk,  with  tele- 
phone, used  in  common  by  Jackson  and  Phillip,  and  a 
typewriter  desk  for  Joe  Caffrey.  The  place  looked 
like  the  well-run  office  of  a  prosperous  undertaking. 
Jenny's  little  room  had  been  turned  into  a  "  private 
office."  The  hall  door  had  been  removed  to  make 
place  for  one  of  ground  glass,  on  which  was  painted  in 
large,  black  letters,  "  East  Side  Associated  Bakeshops." 
The  flat  across  the  hall  had  been  rented  for  living  pur- 
poses. 

Joe  Caffrey,  who  had  learned  typewriting  with  grati- 
fying celerity,  had  also  proved  useful  in  the  dealings 
of  the  association  with  the  help,  his  ready  humor  and 
slowness  to  take  offense,  combined  with  an  undeniable 
skill  as  a  fighter,  sufficiently  well  known,  having 
smoothed  over  many  an  initial  difficulty  in  that  quarter. 
Haggleton,  directing  it  all,  placed  upon  each  his  full 
share  of  responsibility,  gauging  to  a  nicety  the  amount 
of  it  that  each  could  be  trusted  to  carry.  Joe,  by  the 
way,  had  begun  to  indulge  his  love  for  finery.  In  his 
own  words,  he  was  a  "  smooth  dresser." 

Moran  alone  remained  unreconciled,  watching  with 
growing  hostility  the  phenomenal  rise  of  this  man 


MORAN    FINDS   JENNY  245 

Jackson,  a  failure  like  himself,  in  circumstances  like 
his  own.  Moran  was  a  good  bookkeeper,  did  his  work 
faithfully,  but  he  remained  the  same  bitter  enemy  of 
capital. 

Jenny's  disappearance  had  been  a  terrible  blow  to 
him.  He  had  no  delusion  about  the  life  to  which  she 
had  returned,  and  in  his  unreasoning  hostility  to  so- 
ciety ascribed  this,  too,  to  the  curse  of  capitalism.  He 
spent  all  his  evenings  looking  for  her  in  her  old  haunts, 
but  in  vain. 

Phillip,  too,  worried  a  great  deal  over  Jenny,  even 
though  he  admitted  that  Haggleton  was  right  in  saying 
that  the  young  woman's  actions  could  in  no  reasonable 
way  be  charged  to  his  refusal  to  let  her  make  love  to 
him.  Under  his  new  mentor's  guidance  the  young 
man  came  to  see  clearly  every  day  that  life  is  difficult 
and  complicated,  and  stronger  far  than  the  best-laid 
plans  of  the  best  meaning  of  reformers. 

One  afternoon,  Moran,  simply  but  neatly  dressed, 
was  working  at  his  desk  and  grumbling  at  his  work, 
as  was  his  wont.  Joe,  seated  at  the  typewriter,  was 
ticking  out  letters.  As  usual,  he  found  amusement  in 
his  father-in-law's  surliness,  encouraging  him  from 
time  to  time  with  skillful  opposition. 

"  Say,  Moran,"  he  observed  now,  "  what's  the  use 
of  bein'  a  kicker?" 

"  I'd  rather  be  a  kicker  than  a  quitter,"  was  the 
significant  answer. 

"  Meanin'  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you.  You  used  to  call  yourself  a  socialist. 
Yah!" 


246  THE   BATTLE 

"  That  was  when  I  was  broke."  Joe  laughed.  "  I 
wanted  to  divide.  Now  I've  got  something,  and  say — 
no  dividin'  for  me !  " 

"  Awr!  "  growled  Moran  in  disgust. 

Joe  returned  to  his  typewriting,  stopping  long  enough 
between  the  clicks  of  the  machine  to  say: 

"  That's  thirty-two  letters  I've  copied.  The  only 
trouble  with  prosperity  is  that  it  makes  you  hustle 
so.  Mr.  Jackson  certainly  is  a  wonder." 

He  stopped  work  the  better  to  appreciate  Mr.  Jack- 
son's qualities;  then  took  the  morning's  paper  out  of 
his  pocket  and  glanced  at  it. 

"  Hello !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  here's  my  old  friend  Hag- 
gleton  again.  I  hadn't  heard  from  him  for  some  time. 
His  yacht  has  passed  Gibraltar." 

"  Damn  him !  "  growled  Moran.    "  I  hate  him !  " 

"  I've  heard  you  make  remarks  to  that  effect  be- 
fore," commented  Joe  easily.  "  I  suppose  if  he  offered 
you  a  thousand  dollars  you  wouldn't  take  it?" 

"  Not  if  he  offered  me  a  million !  If  ever  I  came 
face  to  face  with  that  scoundrel " 

"  Ah,  shut  off  the  hot  air.  What's  John  J.  ever  done 
to  you  ?  " 

Moran  wheeled  around. 

"  What  has  he  done  to  me  ?  "  he  snarled.  "  He 
ruined  my  little  business  out  West  and  made  me  a 
common  laborer.  He  killed  my  wife  in  his  rotten 
tenement  with  consumption.  He  killed  Jenny's  hus- 
band with  his  railroads,  and  he  has  sent  Jenny  out 
into  the " 

"What  did  he  have  to  do  with  that?" 

"  I  tell  you,  if  Jenny  had  lived  in  a  decent  place " 


MORAN   FINDS   JENNY  247 

"  You  make  me  tired,  Moran.  If  a  woman  has 
twins  in  this  tenement,  they  blame  it  on  John  J.  Hag- 
gleton !  Hush,  here's  the  boss." 

Haggleton  entered,  followed  by  Gentle. 

The  head  of  the  East  Side  bakery  trust  sat  down 
at  his  desk,  saying  to  Gentle: 

"  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment.  Go  into  the 
private  office."  True  to  his  resolution,  the  old  diver 
now  kept  in  daily  touch  with  Haggleton  and  his  son. 
The  millionaire  understood  his  motive  perfectly,  but 
never  betrayed  the  slightest  impatience  or  irritation. 

Gentle  went  over  to  Moran. 

"  You  are  a  different  man,  Moran,"  he  said,  "  since 
you  stopped  drinking  altogether." 

"  I  may  look  different  to  you,  but  I  am  the  same 
man."  Moran's  tone  was  threatening. 

Gentle  shook  his  head  in  discouragement,  and  went 
into  Jenny's  little  room. 

Haggleton,  meanwhile,  had  been  giving  some  di- 
rections to  Joe,  and  signed  the  letters  which  that 
industrious  gentleman  had  placed  before  him. 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  morning  paper. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  "  another  model  tenement  fails 
to  pay  expenses.  Tenants  store  their  coal  in  the  por- 
celain bath  tubs.  Here,  Joe,  show  this  to  Mr.  Gentle. 
No,  wait.  I'll  do  it  myself." 

He  disappeared  in  the  private  office,  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 

Moran  closed  his  ledger,  opened  one  of  the  drawers 
of  his  desk  and  took  from  it  a  revolver,  which  he  re- 
garded pensively.  Joe,  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
caught  sight  of  it  and  was  amazed. 


248  THE   BATTLE 

"  Here!  "  he  said,  "  what  are  you  doin'  with  that?  " 

"  Nothing,"  growled  Moran. 

"  What  have  you  got  that  gun  for  ?  "  persisted  Joe. 

"  Nothing — nothing,  I  tell  you." 

Moran  put  the  pistol  back  into  the  drawer  and 
closed  and  locked  it. 

Joe,  secretly  much  disturbed,  proceeded  to  apply 
his  customary  treatment  of  semi-contemptuous,  brutal 
banter. 

"  You  have  been  playin'  with  that  gun  for  years, 
Moran.  What's  the  use?  You'd  never  dare  to  use 
it.  You're  a  milk-and-water  anarchist.  Why  don't 
you  get  a  bunch  of  firecrackers?  They  make  more 
noise  for  less  money.  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
anyway  ?  " 

Moran  turned  around  again  from  the  desk. 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  he  announced  gloomily.  "  I  had  no 
business  to  take  this  job." 

"Well,  then  why  did  you  take  it?" 

"  I  was  out  of  work — I  wanted  to  help  Jenny. 
Never  mind  what  she  has  been —  She  is  my  daugh- 
ter— she's  all  I  have  got — and  now  she's  gone — I  have 
lost  her." 

Two  tears  rolled  slowly  down  his  flabby  cheeks. 
Joe  was  touched.  He  felt  sincerely  sorry,  but,  after 
the  manner  of  his  kind,  ashamed  of  this  "  softness." 
So  he  replied  airily: 

"  Jenny  will  turn  up  all  right." 

Despair  distorted  the  old  man's  features. 

"  Where  will  she  turn  up  ?  "  he  asked  in  an  agony 
of  apprehension.  "  What  is  she  doing  now  ?  My 
God !  " 


MORAN    FINDS   JENNY  249 

Joe  became  impatient. 

"  You've  got  a  rotten  philosophy !  "  he  ejaculated. 
"  Whatever  is,  is  wrong.  That's  the  way  you  dope  it 
out.  Say,  you'd  better  get  busy  and  mail  them  let- 
ters Mr.  Jackson  has  signed  or  you'll  lose  this  job 
you're  so  ashamed  of." 

Moran  obediently  put  on  his  coat  and  hat,  took  up 
the  pile  of  correspondence  which  Joe  had  meanwhile 
stamped  with  lightning  rapidity,  and  walked  toward 
the  door. 

Joe  returned  to  his  typewriting. 

Moran,  however,  having  reached  the  door,  stopped, 
hesitated,  and  turned  back.  He  approached  Joe's  desk, 
leaned  over  it,  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 
The  grim  determination  of  his  face  daunted  Joe  a 
little. 

"  Here,  you,"  said  the  old  man  significantly,  "  I 
want  to  know  something,  and  I  mean  to  find  out. 
Where  is  Jenny  ?  " 

Joe  shifted  his  eyes  from  Moran's  face  to  the  wall 
behind  it,  and  wriggled  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  Why — er — "  he  stammered. 

"  Answer  my  question,"  said  the  other  man,  with 
ominous  calm. 

"  I  don't  know,  Moran." 

"  I  believe  you  are  lying.  You  know  where  she  is 
and  what  she  is.  Mark  my  words,  I  will  find  that 
girl !  I  will  find  her,  I  tell  you !  " 

He  continued  to  look  at  Joe  in  silence,  with  a  new 
determination  in  his  watery,  wavering  eyes.  His 
flabby  mouth  was  drawn  in  a  tight  line.  Joe  was 
startled  again,  but  again  mastered  himself.  He  looked 


250  THE   BATTLE 

back  boldly,  steadfastly,  resolved  to  keep  to  himself 
what  he  knew. 

Moran's  next  action  startled  him  still  more.  The 
old  man  returned  to  his  desk,  took  his  keys  out  of  his 
pocket,  unlocked  the  drawer,  took  from  it  the  re- 
volver, and  slipped  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat. 

Then  he  turned  again  to  Joe,  gave  him  another  look 
full  of  hidden  meaning,  nodded  at  him,  and  left  the 
office  without  a  further  word. 

Joe  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down.  He  was  now 
deeply  disturbed,  far  more  so  than  he  would  admit, 
even  to  himself.  Born  and  bred  in  the  toughest  quarter 
of  New  York,  considerably  of  a  tough  himself  at  one 
time,  he  prided  himself  on  his  bravado,  but  this  sud- 
den demonstration  of  firmness  by  the  flabby,  vacil- 
lating, mouthing  Moran — well,  he  did  not  like  it.  No 
man  is  so  dangerous,  he  knew,  as  a  coward  with  a 
gun  when  he  screws  his  cowardice  up  to  the  sticking 
point. 

For  whom  was  that  revolver  meant? 

He  cast  about  in  his  mind,  but  could  settle  on  no 
particular  person.  Moran's  hatreds  were  so  all-inclu- 
sive, social  and  economic  in  the  aggregate,  rather  than 
particular. 

Of  course  John  J.  Haggleton  was  to  Moran  the 
incarnation  of  all  the  evils  of  society,  including  the 
evil  whose  victim  Jenny  was.  But  John  J.  was  away 
on  his  yacht  for  a  three  months'  cruise,  and  Moran 
could  not  reach  him  with  a  pistol  across  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  at  Gibraltar. 

There  were  the  police,  and  the  police  justices  on 
their  benches,  and  the  settlement  workers,  whose  so- 


MORAN   FINDS   JENNY  251 

cial  superiority  Moran  detested,  always  talking  of  their 
labors  with  contempt.  He  hated  the  Czar  of  Russia, 
and  the  president  of  the  republic.  His  hatreds  began 
at  the  top  and  reached  down  to — where  did  they  stop  ? 
He  seemed  even  to  hate  the  poor  around  him,  because 
they  did  not  rise  and  destroy  society.  Moran  expected 
others  to  do  everything  while  he  waited  for  them  to 
do  it,  and  harangued  about  it,  Joe  reflected  in  a  quick 
parenthesis. 

But — there  was  the  pistol,  and  the  desperate  look 
of  the  man  at  bay  in  Moran's  eyes.  Why  had  he 
taken  it  from  its  hiding  place  now? 

He  did  not  like  Jackson,  who  had  given  him  a  new 
start  in  life.  He  merely  tolerated  Gentle,  who  ad- 
vocated industrial  social  evolution  and  sternly  disap- 
proved all  revolutionary  violence.  He  had  begun  to 
sneer  at  Phillip  and  his  sudden  business  activity.  He 
was  rude  to  Margaret  Lawrence,  who  certainly  was 
doing  good  day  and  night  in  the  district — Jenny  alone 
he  loved. 

Perhaps  he  hated  Joe  himself?  Jx)e  knew  that  he 
habitually  and  deliberately  exasperated  the  old  man 
whenever  he  talked  his  idle,  aimless  gospel  of  violence 
and  destruction.  He  thought  of  the  pistol  again.  It 
might  be  turned  against  himself.  Joe  stopped  in  his 
walk.  Moran,  the  butt  of  his  rough  humor  and  con- 
tempt, suddenly  assumed  threatening  proportions. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  heard  the  leader  of 
a  gang  say  upon  one  occasion :  "  When  a  man  threat- 
ens you  with  a  gun,  shoot  first,  and  do  it  quick.  But 
if  you  are  unarmed,  get  hold  of  his  windpipe  and 
squeeze.  No  man  who  feels  the  life  being  strangled 


252  THE   BATTLE 

out  of  him  ever  had  presence  of  mind  enough  left  to 
shoot.  Instinct  tells  him  to  tear  those  hands  away 
from  his  throat — to  get  air,  to  breathe.  He  will 
drop  his  gun  to  do  it  before  he  will  fire." 

So  that  might  have  to  be  the  ticket! 

Joe  lighted  a  cigarette  and  regained  his  equanimity. 
After  all,  what  was  he  thinking  about?  Such  non- 
sense! He  dismissed  the  subject  from  his  mind. 

"  He's  an  awful  bluff,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "  He's 
a  wind  anarchist!  He  couldn't  blow  up  a  red  bal- 
loon!" 

Moran  had  left  the  office  a  little  before  five  in  the 
afternoon.  He  mailed  the  bundle  of  letters  mechan- 
ically, then  stood  a  moment  trying  to  decide  what  to 
do  next.  It  was  no  use  to  return  to  the  office  in 
his  present  state  of  mind,  he  concluded ;  moreover,  they 
would  close  in  an  hour.  And,  anyhow,  he  did  not  care. 

Since  Jenny's  disappearance  the  household  in  the 
tenement  had  changed  into  a  bachelors'  home,  whose 
inmates  took  dinner  at  a  neighboring  restaurant.  There 
was  nothing  to  attract  Moran  thither — nothing  but 
talks  between  Jackson  and  Phillip  about  business  and 
money-making,  Joe  listening  in  silence,  Gentle  inter- 
posing his  peaceful  ideal  of  an  industrial  socialism 
whenever  he  happened  to  be  present.  And  he,  Moran, 
was  invariably  suppressed  when  he  advocated  violence. 

So  he  resolved  to  dine  somewhere  else,  and  then 
to  resume  his  search,  his  unending,  desperate  search, 
for  his  erring  daughter. 

But  first  he  wanted  a  drink.  Moran  had  never  been 
a  heavy  drinker,  but  his  head  was  weak,  and  a  little 


MORAN    FINDS   JENNY  253 

alcohol  sufficed  to  intoxicate  him.  He  entered  a 
saloon — the  nearest  at  hand — and  had  his  drink,  then 
took  another,  and  still  another,  with  a  couple  of  men 
who,  he  discovered,  were  fomenting  trouble  among 
the  hands  of  the  bakery  combine.  His  mind  was  still 
sufficiently  clear  to  remember  suddenly  that  Jackson 
and  Phillip  had  been  discussing  the  possibility  of  a 
strike  of  late,  and  that  Joe  had  pooh-poohed  the  idea. 

He  forgot  his  dinner,  mechanically  ate  of  the  "  free 
lunch  "  provided  by  the  saloon  keeper,  and  emerged 
at  nine  o'clock  to  take  up  his  hunt  for  his  daughter. 

He  walked  the  Bowery  from  Chinatown  to  the 
Bible  House,  back  and  forth.  A  fine  drizzle  was  fall- 
ing, but  he  did  not  feel  it.  The  elevated  trains  roared 
overhead,  but  he  did  not  hear  them.  He  was  thinking 
of  Jenny.  If  he  could  only  find  her — or  forget — or 
be  revenged  upon  society! 

It  was  after  nine  when  he  turned  into  Doyer  Street, 
where  evil-looking  Chinamen  were  skulking  under 
dark  doorways.  He  recognized  the  smell  of  burning 
opium.  He  heard  the  harsh  tom-tom  in  the  Chinese 
theater,  and  from  the  Doyer  Street  Mission  just  be- 
yond came  the  fragment  of  a  Gospel  hymn: 

"  Oh  Depths  of  Mercy  !     Can  it  be 
That  gate  was  left  ajar  for  me!" 

For  a  moment  he  stood  irresolute,  almost  ready  to 
go  in  and  throw  himself  on  his  knees  and  pray  for 
help.  But  he  reflected  that  nothing  would  come  of 
that ;  they  could  not  help  him.  O  God,  if  he  could  only 
find  her ! 

He  turned  into  a  narrow  street  where  red  lanterns 


254  THE   BATTLE 

were  burning.  They  were  making  repairs  here  and  he 
sat  down  on  the  iron  elbow  of  a  sewer  pipe.  He  sat  in 
the  rain  and  thought  in  a  dull  way  for  a  long  time. 
And  presently  a  woman  approached,  and  he  saw  that 
she  had  strange  dark  eyes. 

"  Hello,"  she  said,  "  you're  all  wet." 

"  I  know  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  wistful  tenderness. 

"  Feelin'  blue,  ain't  ye?     Same  here." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  inquired  Moran 
listlessly. 

"  I'm  all  broke  up,"  she  said.  "  I've  been  livin' 
with  a  Chink  an'  I've  just  quit  him." 

"What  for?" 

"  'Cause  I'm  takin'  too  much  dope.  Fifty  pills  a  day 
is  too  much,  ain't  it?  The  missionary  doctor  says  I 
can't  live  six  months  if  I  don't  cut  it  out.  So  I've 
cut  the  Chinaman  out,  too." 

"  Do  you  know  Jenny  Moran  ?  " 

He  watched  the  wretched  woman  eagerly. 

"  Jenny  Moran  ?  Sure.  She  ain't  here.  She's  a 
good-looker.  She's  up  in  the  Tenderloin.  She  stayed 
down  here  one  day.  If  you  want  to  find  her,  you 
must  go  to  the  '  Haymarket.'  " 

Moran  rose.  Without  thanking  the  woman,  with- 
out giving  her  a  second  look,  he  walked  rapidly  away, 
back  to  the  Bowery.  At  Chatham  Square  he  took  the 
Elevated,  and  within  twenty  minutes  stood  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  notorious  resort. 

Outside  the  open  door  he  paused,  under  green  elec- 
tric lights,  and  watched  the  men  and  women  as  they 
entered.  Each  man  went  to  a  window  and  bought  a 


MORAN    FINDS   JENNY  255 

ticket,  but  the  women  were  admitted  free,  save  for 
the  quick  scrutiny  of  a  man  about  sixty  who  sat  in 
the  hallway  and  studied  every  face  with  hard  eyes. 
His  hair  was  white  and  so  was  his  scrubby  brush 
mustache,  and  his  jaw  worked  nervously  chewing 
gum.  He  never  smiled,  and  his  eyes  never  changed 
in  their  steady  watchfulness.  One  of  the  girls  called 
him  "  Papa  "  as  she  passed.  It  was  plain  that  he  knew 
all  these  women  by  name,  that  he  would  never  for- 
get one  of  them,  even  after  years.  A  strange  and 
sinister  figure  this  doorkeeper  at  the  "  Haymarket  "  ! 

Moran  approached  and  asked  the  man  if  he  knew 
Jenny  Moran. 

"  Not  here  yet,"  was  the  answer  snapped  out  from 
the  chewing  jaws. 

"Will  she  be  here?" 

The  doorkeeper  looked  at  his  questioner  sharply  and 
then  said :  "  Sure." 

Moran  bought  a  ticket  and  went  inside.  He  found 
himself  in  a  tawdry  dance  hall  surrounded  by  gal- 
leries. The  music  was  furnished  by  a  banging  or- 
chestra at  the  farther  end,  to  the  strains  of  which  a 
dozen  couples  were  whirling  about  on  the  smooth  floor, 
the  women  clinging  close  to  the  men.  The  faces  of 
the  women  were  quite  expressionless,  but  hard,  like 
dolls  that  had  become  suspicious  of  the  world.  Some 
of  the  men  were  well  dressed  and  a  few  looked  like 
college  students. 

The  old  man  went  upstairs  and  seated  himself  at 
a  small  table,  and  almost  immediately  an  old  woman  of 
twenty  took  the  chair  beside  him. 

"  Hello,  dear,"  she  began,  "  will  you  treat  me?  " 


256  THE   BATTLE 

"  No." 

"  Gee,  you're  stingy !  " 

She  said  this  in  a  dull  way,  as  if  she  did  not  care 
whether  he  treated  her  or  not. 

A  man  passed  them  who  was  the  very  picture  of  a 
prize  fighter,  with  massive  shoulders  and  a  heavy  bru- 
tal jaw.  He  wore  a  Tuxedo  coat  and  a  diamond 
flashed  in  his  shirt  front.  He  seemed  to  be  on  duty. 

"Who's  that?"  inquired  Moran. 

"  That's  Bill,  the  bouncer,"  she  answered. 

Moran  wondered  how  long  he  must  wait  for  Jenny, 
and,  musing,  he  recalled  Jenny  of  the  old  days,  with 
her  lithe  figure  and  wonderful  dark  eyes,  his  little 
daughter,  so  fond  and  loyal.  He  thought  of  her  wed- 
ding day  when  all  the  tenement  neighbors  had  crowded 
in  with  congratulations.  And  of  the  little  baby  that 
came  and  the  young  mother's  pride  in  it.  And  then 
of  her  husband's  sudden  death  and — ah,  it  did  not 
seem  possible  she  had  come  to  this! 

As  he  pondered  these  things,  he  heard  a  voice  beside 
him  exclaim,  ''Father!"  and,  looking  up,  he  saw 
Jenny.  She  wore  a  large  black  hat  with  white  ostrich 
plumes  and  a  tan  coat  lined  with  silk  over  a  hand- 
some red  dress. 

"  Jenny !  "  he  said  with  unexpected  quiet,  "  I've  been 
waiting  for  you." 

She  followed  him  without  a  word,  pale  and  trem- 
bling, into  the  street,  across  town,  and  into  a  Fourth 
Avenue  car.  Not  a  word  passed  between  them ;  they 
sat  side  by  side,  her  hand  in  his,  the  tears  rolling 
unchecked  down  her  painted  cheeks,  his  face  grim, 
a  baleful  light  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   BATTLE   IS   ON 

THE  offices  of  the  East  Side  Associated  Bakeshops 
had  not  closed  that  evening  at  the  customary 
hour,  however.  The  threatened  strike  had  suddenly 
assumed  ugly  proportions.  Phillip  had  come  in  seri- 
ously worried  by  this,  and  by  pressing  inquiries  from 
the  agent  of  the  flour  mills,  who  had  heard  of  it,  and 
was  anxious  over  the  credits  he  had  extended  to  the 
new  enterprise.  In  short,  the  trust  faced  a  crisis. 
Haggleton  laughed  a  little  when  Phillip  told  him  his 
perplexities,  and  reassured  him,  then  went  out  to  din- 
ner with  Gentle.  Joe  was  dismissed  for  the  evening. 

Haggleton  secretly  welcomed  the  trouble  with  the 
hands  in  the  bakeshops.  What  he  foresaw  came  to 
pass.  Phillip,  face  to  face  with  the  poor  in  his  new 
position  as  a  business  man,  suddenly  discovered  their 
unreasonableness,  their  lack  of  foresight,  their  self- 
ishness, which  could  not  calculate  future  benefits,  their 
disregard  of  the  good  of  the  money.  Without  real- 
izing it,  he  ranged  himself  that  evening  on  the  side  of 
capital. 

So  he  stayed  on  alone  in  the  office,  waiting  for  news, 
watching  the  telephone.  Haggleton  and  Gentle  re- 
turned, the  former  stopping  a  moment  to  ask  for 
news,  then  went  across  the  hall  to  the  other  apartment. 

At  nine  o'clock  Margaret  suddenly  appeared.  She 
257 


258  THE   BATTLE 

had  a  new  grievance  against  the  trust,  a  clinching  ar- 
gument that,  she  hoped,  would  turn  the  tide  of  battle 
in  her  favor  and  give  her  victory.  She  loved  Phillip 
more  than  ever,  but,  after  that  momentous  talk  in 
which  he  had  excluded  her  from  the  business  side  of 
his  life,  her  mind  was  made  up.  She  must  win,  or 
he  must  lose  her.  There  should  be  no  compromise ! 

Her  stern  purpose  was  delayed,  however,  by  her  re- 
ception. Phillip  clasped  her  tumultuously  in  his  strong 
arms. 

"  You  darling !  "  he  exulted ;  "  oh,  you  darling !  You 
never  looked  so  adorable  as  you  do  now." 

He  kissed  her  fondly  again  and  again.  She  sur- 
rendered for  a  moment  to  the  spell  of  their  young  love, 
then  pushed  him  from  her. 

"  Be  very  sensible,  now,"  she  said,  with  mock  seri- 
ousness, yet  with  unmistakable  determination ;  "  I  have 
much  to  say  to  you." 

"  Pleasure  before  business  just  for  once,  sweetheart. 
Give  me  your  left  hand,  so!  Now  close  your  eyes." 

She  obeyed  with  a  smile.  Phillip  took  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket  an  engagement  ring  and  slipped  it 
on  her  finger. 

"  Don't  open  your  eyes  yet,"  he  warned. 

She  stood,  the  dark  lashes  resting  on  her  cheeks, 
her  pretty  hand  outstretched.  Phillip  again  took  her 
into  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  Now  look,"  he  commanded. 

Margaret  did  look  at  the  ring,  of  course,  and  gave 
a  little  cry  of  glad  surprise. 

"  What  a  beautiful  ring,  Phil !  It  is  much  too  nice ! 
But— but— I  just  love  it." 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  259 

She  kissed  the  ring,  then  held  up  her  lips  to  him. 

They  stood  again,  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  in 
exquisite,  blissful  silence.  But  in  a  few  moments  Mar- 
garet regretfully  but  resolutely  disengaged  herself,  and 
prudently  got  behind  the  defense  of  Joe's  desk. 

"  O  Phil !  "  she  said  pitifully,  "  I  came  to  tell  you 
about —  You  remember  Emmy  and  Benny,  the  little 
children  we  sent  to  the  hospital  ?  " 

"  I  know,  dear.  Their  father  hurt  his  hand  the 
other  day." 

"  Hurt  his  hand !  It  was  crushed  in  your  kneading 
machine,  and  now  it  has  been  amputated." 

Phil  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  typewriter 
and  said  in  an  offhand  way : 

"  That's  a  pity,  but  it  is  his  own  fault.  He  was 
careless." 

"  His  children  were  left  unprovided  for,"  continued 
Margaret  reproachfully,  "  and  now — little  Benny  is 
dead." 

Phillip  looked  concerned. 

"  I  am  sincerely  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  began,  but 
just  then  the  telephone  bell  rang,  and  he  hurried  over 
to  the  instrument. 

Margaret  saw  with  a  pang  that  little  Benny  and 
his  maimed  father  were  immediately  forgotten.  This 
was  business !  Her  lips  curled  a  little  disdainfully,  then 
her  heart  sank,  as  she  listened  to  her  lover's  side  of 
the  brisk  conversation  over  the  'phone : 

"Hello!— The  Wisconsin  flour  mills?— Yes,  this 
is  the  East  Side  Associated  Bakeshops — What's  that? 
— Oh,  that's  all  right;  we  have  the  strike  pretty  well 
in  hand — Yes,  the  bills  will  be  promptly  met — No,  no, 


260  THE   BATTLE 

Mr.  Williams,  we  are  taking  fifty  car  loads  a  week 
now,  and  there's  a  Minneapolis  concern  that  will  do 
better  by  us — Yes,  that's  right,  that's  what  we  ask, 
twenty  per  cent  off — I  didn't  catch  what  you  said — 
Yes,  I  know  that  we  must  be  making  money,  that's 
what  we  are  here  for — Oh,  no,  it's  twenty  off,  or 
nothing  doing — All  right? — Good-by." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  back  to  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Excuse  me,  dear,"  he  said,  "  but  business  is  busi- 
ness. What  were  you  saying?" 

"  O  Phil,  don't  you  see  what  is  happening?  Don't 
you  feel  the  change  that  is  coming  over  you?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  dearest." 

"  No,  because  you  are  blind.  You  are  under  the 
spell  of  Mr.  Jackson.  You  say  that  the  whole  East 
Side  is  benefiting  by  this  money-making  scheme.  .  .  . 
Is  that  poor  man  who  lost  his  hand  benefiting?  And 
his  lonely  little  girl  ?  And  the  bakers  who  are  thrown 
out  of  work?  Are  they  benefiting?  " 

"  We  must  think  of  the  greatest  good  of  the  great- 
est number." 

"  Mr.  Jackson  does  not.  He  thinks  only  of  his 
own  selfish  interest." 

"  That  is  not  kind,  Margaret.  I  know  more  than 
you  do.  Mr.  Jackson  came  down  here  at  a  great  sac- 
rifice. He's  actually  living  in  a  tenement." 

Margaret  was  on  the  point  of  answering  that  she 
knew  Jackson's  real  name  and  identity,  but  caught 
herself  in  time.  She  accepted  Phillip's  statement  with- 
out comment,  and  rejoined : 

"  He  came  down  here  at  a  great  sacrifice,  you  say  ? 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  261 

Why  ?  Did  he  need  this  bakeshop  money  ?  No !  Then 
why  did  he  do  it?  " 

Phillip  was  ready  with  his  answer: 

"  He  wished  to  study  tenement  conditions."  But, 
even  so,  Margaret's  question  had  awakened  a  doubt. 
She  saw  it,  and  pushed  home  her  advantage. 

"Has  Mr.  Jackson  studied  tenement  conditions?" 
she  asked  scornfully.  "  Do  you  see  any  tenement 
conditions  here?  You  know  that  wasn't  the  reason, 
don't  you,  Phil?" 

"  Well— perhaps  it  wasn't." 

Margaret  returned  to  the  personal  phase  of  her 
problem : 

"  Phil,  have  you  not  noticed  that  I  have  been  wor- 
ried and  unhappy  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,  dear." 

"  It  is  what  you  said  to  me  the  other  evening  about 
business  being  the  man's  province,  not  the  woman's. 
It  is  because  I  have  seen  you  become  entirely  absorbed 
in  business  schemes  and  money-making — nothing  but 
plans  for  making  more  money.  Phil,  you  are  for- 
getting your  beautiful  ideals !  " 

The  young  man  looked  at  her.  The  truth  of  what 
she  had  just  said  was  undeniable.  Yes,  he  was  for- 
getting his  beautiful  ideals,  his  high  altruistic  pur- 
pose. 

"  It's  true,"  he  said  at  last  thoughtfully.  "  Mr. 
Jackson  has  had  an  influence  over  me.  I  am  different 
from  what  I  was  before  he  came.  It  is  as  if  he  had 
waked  up  something  in  me  that  I  did  not  know 
was  there." 

"  O  Phil !  "  cried  Margaret  in  dismay. 


262  THE   BATTLE 

"  No,  I  have  not  really  forgotten  my  ideals,"  con- 
tinued Phillip,  reasoning  out  his  own  case,  "  only  I 
have  come  to  see  that  money  is  needed  to  carry  them 
out.  Money  is  needed  to  help  the  poor,  and  money  is 
needed  to  make  you  happy !  " 

"  I  don't  want  money." 

"  Well,  I  do."  He  spoke  with  decision.  "  And  I  am 
going  to  have  it.  And  that  means  an  active  business 
life  for  me." 

"  You  will  give  up  diving?  " 

"  Diving  is  no  career.  There  is  no  future  in  it. 
It  wears  a  man  out  before  his  time.  Look  at  Gentle !  " 

Margaret  was  astonished  and  hurt.  This  bakery 
scheme,  which,  deep  in  her  heart,  she  had  still  con- 
sidered as  but  a  passing  danger,  threatening,  but  not 
fatal,  had  apparently  already  become  his  aim  in  life, 
the  first  stepping-stone  to  wealth ! 

"  You  have  decided  all  this  without  telling  me  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  am  telling  you  now,  dear.  We  can  talk  it  over 
together." 

"  My  poor,  poor  boy!  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Because " 

Margaret  again  caught  herself  in  time.  No,  she 
must  not  speak  as  yet. 

She  reverted  to  the  immediate  purpose  of  her  com- 
ing. 

"  Phil,"  she  said,  "  there's  something  that  must  be 
done  at  once  before  we  settle  this.  I  promised  Emmy 
that  I  would  see  about  little  Benny's  funeral — will 
you  come  with  me?" 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  263 

She  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  pleadingly. 

Phil,  too,  got  up,  but  hesitated. 

"  Why — er — I  don't  see  how  I  can,"  he  replied. 

"  It's  such  a  pitiful  case,  Phil." 

"  I'll  gladly  give  money " 

"  Money !  "  she  burst  out.  "  It's  all  money  now ! 
You  have  always  said  that  the  only  way  to  help  the 
poor  was  to  love  them !  " 

"  Yes,  yes."  His  voice  was  impatient.  "  But,  you 
see,  there's  that  bakers'  strike.  I  may  be  called  up 
on  the  'phone  at  any  moment.  I  must  stay  here.  Seri- 
ous interests  are  at  stake." 

Margaret  grew  indignant. 

"  I  hate  your  serious  interests,"  she  cried,  "  and  your 
bakeshops,  and  all  of  it."  Her  voice  became  pleading 
again  as  she  concluded: 

"  Phil,  dear  Phil,  leave  this  business  scheming ! 
Give  it  up  for  my  sake,  for  your  own !  " 

"  I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  please  you,  Mar- 
garet. I  will  work  for  you,  I  will  protect  you,  love 
you,  but,  dearest,  as  I  have  told  you,  it  is  the  man 
who  must  decide  business  matters,  and — I  have  de- 
cided this." 

"You  have  decided  this,"  repeated  the  woman 
slowly,  wistfully. 

There  was  sorrow  in  her  eyes,  and  pity.  But  sud- 
denly she  reached  a  determination. 

"  Yes,  Phil,"  she  said,  with  grave  emphasis,  "  you 
have  decided,  and — you  have  decided  far  more  than 
you  know." 

She  stepped  to  the  door,  crossed  the  hall,  and 
knocked. 


264  THE   BATTLE 

"  Wait,"  Phillip  said,  in  astonishment,  following 
her.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  call  Mr.  Haggleton." 

"  You  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  opened  the  door  of  the  living  apartment  in 
answer  to  the  call  from  within,  and  said : 

"  Will  you  come  out  here  a  moment,  Mr.  Haggle- 
ton?  You,  too,  Mr.  Gentle,  please?" 

"  But  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  this,"  objected 
Phillip. 

"  They  have  everything  to  do  with  it.  I  told  you 
that  you  had  decided  more  than  you  knew." 

Haggleton  and  Gentle  entered,  an  inquiry  on  their 
faces.  Both  had  an  inkling  of  what  was  coming — 
the  precipitation  of  a  crisis,  perhaps — certainly  a  dec- 
laration of  open  war. 

Margaret  stepped  between  Haggleton  and  Phillip, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Phil,"  she  said  in  a  ringing  voice,  "  for  the  last 
time,  choose  between  him  and  me !  " 

Gentle  moved  aside,  as  if  to  leave  a  clear  field  to 
the  principals  in  this  momentous  matter.  An  idea 
struck  him. 

"  The  battle  is  on,"  he  announced,  half  aloud. 

"What  battle,  Gentle?"  asked  Phillip;  but  it  was 
Margaret  who  answered  him. 

"  The  battle  for  you,  Phillip — the  battle  between 
your  better  self  and  your  baser  nature!  I  want  you 
to  speak  out,  Phil,  right  from  your  soul,  and  say  what 
you  think  of — Mr.  Haggleton's  life." 

"  I  don't  understand."     Phillip  was  puzzled,  and  a 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  265 

little  impatient.  "  What  has  Mr.  Haggleton's  life  to 
do  with  us  ?  " 

"  More  than  you  dream  of,  Phil !  "  Her  voice  was 
tender,  yearning.  "  Trust  me,"  she  continued  with 
great  seriousness.  "  Do  what  I  say,  if  you  love  me. 
Tell  Mr.  Haggleton  whether  you  approve  of  him,  or 
not." 

"  I  like  him." 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  his  business  methods  ?  " 

Phillip's  answer  was  unwilling,  but  frank: 

"  If  you  put  it  that  way,"  he  said,  "  why — I  don't." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Margaret  exultingly.  This  was  the 
old  Phillip,  the  Phillip  she  loved ! 

Haggleton  stepped  forward,  sat  down  at  his  desk, 
looked  up  at  the  young  man,  and  asked  tranquilly: 

"  What  is  it  you  do  not  approve  of  in  my  business 
methods  ?  " 

"  You  know  that,  Mr.  Haggleton.  Every  schoolboy 
knows.  It's  the  old  thing — monopoly  and  bribery  and 
rebates — why  go  into  it  all  again  ?  " 

"  Go  on !  "  commanded  Margaret. 

Phillip  obeyed. 

"  You  know  very  well,  Mr.  Haggleton,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  you  and  a  dozen  other  men  practically 
own  this  Republic." 

"  That's  true,"  asserted  Gentle. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  decided  Haggleton  with  authority. 

"  Don't  you  control  prices  ?  "  asked  Phillip.  "  Don't 
you  force  people  to  pay  what  you  like  for  public 
necessaries  ?  " 

Haggleton  did  not  rise.  He  barely  moved,  but  he 
took  command  of  the  discussion  right  there,  none  the 


266  THE   BATTLE 

less.  They  all  three  turned  to  him  with  eager  atten- 
tion as  he  began : 

"  Listen  to  me.  No  big  work  has  ever  been  done 
in  this  world  without  leaders,  and  when  a  man  de- 
livers the  goods  he's  entitled  to  the  reward.  Well,  we 
have  delivered  the  goods  in  this  country." 

He  paused  a  moment,  looking  from  one  to  the  other, 
with  dignity  and  the  pride  of  great  achievement. 
Then,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Phillip,  he  resumed : 

"  Go  over  to  Europe,  and  ask  what  they  think  of 
the  United  States  ?  They'll  tell  you  that  it's  the  great- 
est nation  on  earth — and  it  is.  Why  is  it?  Because 
the  men  you  call  robbers  and  grafters  have  organized 
things — railroads,  industries,  banks,  everything." 

"  You  have  organized  things  for  yourselves,"  inter- 
posed Gentle,  "  and  you  have  broken  the  law." 

"  You  haven't  been  honest,"  added  Margaret. 

"Honest?"  Haggleton  smiled  grimly.  "I  will 
tell  you  what  we  have  done,"  he  went  on.  "  We  have 
kept  to  the  standard  of  average  honesty  of  this  coun- 
try, and  no  man  can  succeed  in  business  who  keeps 
above  it.  The  faults  of  America's  industrial  leaders 
are  the  faults  of  the  American  people." 

"  No !  "  shouted  Gentle. 

"  Yes !  "  affirmed  Haggleton.  "  You  attack  us  and 
blackguard  us,  but  you  know  in  your  hearts  that 
you'd  do  exactly  what  we  do  if  you  had  the  chance. 
You  know  we  are  precisely  as  honest  as  the  aver- 
age American  citizen.  If  we  weren't,  we  would  be 
in  jail !  " 

Haggleton  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  in  an  easy 
attitude,  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets.  He  had 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  267 

still  more  to  say.  He  would  answer  them  point  by 
point. 

"  You  say  we  break  the  law,  Mr.  Gentle,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Well,  we  do,  but  who  doesn't  ?  Give  the 
average  American  citizen  an  automobile,  and  watch 
him  break  the  speed  law.  Let  a  policeman  stop 
him,  and  see  the  flash  of  a  ten-dollar  bill!  That's 
bribery. 

"  Watch  the  average  American  woman  back  from 
Paris  with  a  lot  of  new  dresses.  Does  she  smuggle 
them  in?  Well,  watch  her! 

"  I  tell  you,  the  only  law  anybody  respects  is  cus- 
tom. What  does  the  average  American  citizen  do 
when  he  wants  a  drink  in  a  prohibition  State?  He 
breaks  the  law  and  gets  the  drink.  And  the  average 
American  woman,  when  she  tells  the  conductor  how 
old  her  little  boy  is?  She's  a  good  mother,  and  all 
that,  but  she'd  let  Jimmie  ride  on  a  half-fare  ticket 
until  he  had  whiskers,  if  she  could !  " 

Haggleton  rose.  He  was  reaching  the  direct  per- 
sonal application  of  his  argument,  the  real  point  to- 
ward which  he  had  been  working. 

"  When  it  comes  to  business,"  he  summed  up,  "  the 
average  American  citizen  does,  in  a  small  way,  exactly 
what  we  do  in  a  big  way.  Give  him  a  chance  to  crush 
a  rival,  and  see  how  quick  he'll  take  it !  " 

He  turned  suddenly  full  on  Phillip,  and  shot  out 
his  finger  at  him. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  those  opposition 
bakers?"  he  asked  peremptorily. 

Phillip  was  taken  aback.  It  was  true,  he  had  ad- 
vocated a  short  shift  for  those  fools,  who  could  not 


268  THE   BATTLE 

see  their  own  interests  as  he  saw  them,  and  had  put 
the  measure  in  operation  with  considerable  success. 

"  Why,"  he  stammered,  "  I " 

"  You  have  done  in  a  small  way  what  I  have  done 
in  a  big  way,"  said  Haggleton  for  him.  "  There  you 
are,  you  had  to.  I  am  not  reproaching  you,  I  am  not 
calling  your  attention  to  your  inconsistency — I  am 
stating  facts,  hard,  incontrovertible  facts.  And  re- 
member this,  you  reformers,  the  way  to  improve 
things  is  not  to  attack  and  declaim  and  stir  up  class 
hatred,  but  to  raise  the  standard  of  honesty  of  the 
American  people !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  that,  Phillip  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  There's  a  lot  in  what  he  says."  The  young  man 
was  pondering  over  what  he  had  heard. 

Gentle  brought  the  conversation  back  to  its  im- 
mediate, personal  bearing. 

"  All  that  is  not  to  the  point,"  he  asserted.  "  Would 
you  do  as  Mr.  Haggleton  has  done  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  Phillip's  answer  came  promptly. 
"  I  won't  lead  that  kind  of  life." 

"  But  you  say  that  you  are  going  into  business," 
argued  Margaret. 

"  Yes — but  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  railroad  president 
or  a  trust  magnate." 

The  situation  was  growing  tense.  Margaret  and 
Gentle  looked  at  Phillip,  ignorant  of  his  true  future, 
and  called  upon,  in  his  ignorance,  to  answer  this  mo- 
mentous question  regarding  it. 

Haggleton  kept  himself  well  in  hand. 

"  Suppose  you  were  called  upon  to  be  the  head  of 
a  great  railroad  or  a  trust? "  asked  Gentle. 


THE   BATTLE   IS   ON  269 

"That's  foolish!" 

"  No,  Phil,  it's  not  foolish,"  Margaret  spoke  up. 
"  Suppose — suppose  you  were — in  Mr.  Haggleton's 
place,  what  would  you  do?  Think,  dear,  before  you 
answer.  W 'hat  would  you  do?  " 

Haggleton  judged  the  moment  ripe. 

"If  you  had  important  interests  in  trust,  Phillip,"  he 
asked  in  his  usual  clear,  incisive  way,  "  would  you 
protect  them  or  would  you  sacrifice  them  ?  " 

The  answer  came  without  a  moment's  hesitation : 

"  I  would  protect  them." 

"  Would  you  be  dishonest?  "  persisted  Gentle. 

Haggleton  again  reshaped  the  question  from  his  own 
point  of  view : 

"  Would  you  cripple  your  business  by  refusing  to 
allow  practices  sanctioned  by  custom?  " 

"  Dishonest  practices,"  Margaret  put  in  swiftly — 
"would  you,  Phil?" 

But  Phillip  was  bewildered  now.  The  theories  in- 
stilled in  him  from  childhood  pulled  one  way ;  the  com- 
mon sense  of  Haggleton,  backed  up  by  his  own  brief 
insight  into  business,  pointed  the  other. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  he  stammered.  "  It  isn't  fair 
to  ask  such  questions." 

Margaret  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

"  My  poor  boy !  "  she  said. 

Then,  turning  to  Gentle,  she  declared : 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  silent  any  longer." 

Gentle  made  as  if  to  restrain  Margaret,  but  Hag- 
gleton nodded.  He  was  ready  for  the  disclosure 
and  its  consequences.  If  he  had  not  yet  won,  he 
certainly  had  dislodged  the  enemy  from  their  posi- 


270  THE   BATTLE 

tions.  It  was  he  who  had  won  ground,  it  was  they 
who  had  lost. 

Margaret's  words  puzzled  Phillip. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  silent  any  longer,  Mar- 
garet? "  he  asked.  "  Silent  about  what?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  do  the  last  thing  I  can  to  prove  my 
love  for  you,  Phillip.  I  am  going  to  see  to  it  that 
you  know  the  truth;  then  I  am  going  back  to  my 
work." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  I  cannot." 

"But  why?  What's  the  matter?  There  is  some 
mystery  here !  What  is  it  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  Gentle,  who  silently  shook  his  head, 
at  Haggleton,  and,  following  the  direction  of  his  eyes, 
at  Margaret. 

"  Tell  me!  "  he  pleaded,  "  what  is  it?  " 

She  waited  one  brief  moment,  as  if  hesitating.  Then 
she  took  a  step  forward,  looked  at  him  steadily,  and 
said: 

"  Phillip,  Mr.  Haggleton  is  your  father." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

MORAN    FINDS    HIS    MAN 

THE  young  man  started  violently. 
His  father! 

This,  then,  was  the  mystery  of  his  parentage,  which 
Gentle  had  known  so  long.  But  Margaret,  how  did 
she  know  ? 

He  looked  at  the  two  men,  standing  motionless, 
hardly  breathing,  watching  him  with  a  painful  tension. 
As  his  eyes  met  Margaret's  she  nodded  and  repeated 
her  words. 

But  then — was  it  true  ?  Neither  Gentle  nor  Haggle- 
ton  had  volunteered  to  affirm  the  statement. 

A  doubt  came  to  him,  and  with  it  a  sudden  question. 

"  My  name  is  Phillip  Ames,  is  it  not  ?  "  he  asked 
Gentle. 

The  old  diver  gravely  answered  him: 

"  Your  name  is  Phillip  Haggleton." 

So  it  was  true. 

Suddenly  he  began  to  see  clear.  Much  that  had 
puzzled  him  was  explained,  though  as  much  again  re- 
mained obscure.  On  one  point  he  felt  enlightened 
beyond  need  of  further  explanation ;  the  sympathy  he 
had  felt  for  Haggleton  from  the  first,  the  good  quali- 
ties he  had  discovered  in  this  most  hated  of  all  the 
capitalists  of  the  day,  the  readiness  with  which  he  had 

271 


272  THE   BATTLE 

come  to  understand  his  point  of  view,  and  to  accept 
it  in  part — all  this  was  the  call  of  the  blood.  Ah,  yes, 
he  was  his  father's  son. 

He  was  recalled  to  the  present  by  Margaret's  voice. 

"  Now  you  understand,"  she  was  saying. 

He  pondered  this,  the  light  penetrating  ever  farther 
into  his  mind  and  clearing  up  its  confusion. 

"  So  that's  why  you  are  leaving  me,  Margaret  ?  " 
he  asked — "  that's  why  you  will  not  marry  me  ?  " 

He  was  in  love,  deeply  in  love.  Though  the  future 
thus  suddenly  opened  up  before  him,  was  dazzling  in 
its  brilliancy,  tempting  beyond  words,  a  future  of  un- 
told wealth,  of  boundless  opportunity,  of  a  seat  among 
the  rulers  of  the  modern  world,  this  thought  of  his  love 
presented  itself  first  to  him,  and  this  alone. 

He  did  not  stop  to  realize  what  he  gained,  he  felt 
only  what  he  would  lose !  Margaret  would  not  marry 
him!  She  would  pass  out  of  his  life,  resolutely,  dis- 
dainingly ! 

He  turned  to  his  father. 

"  What  reason  had  you,"  he  asked  sternly,  "  ior  not 
telling  me  that  I  am  your  son?  " 

The  answer  was  gently  spoken. 

"  Because,  Phillip,  I  wanted  you  to  know  me  as  a 
man  before  you  knew  me  as  a  father." 

Margaret  interposed.  She  would  see  to  it  that  no 
more  misrepresentations  were  made,  no  more  evasions 
practiced. 

"  Was  that  your  only  reason,  Mr.  Haggleton  ?  "  she 
asked  severely.  "  Didn't  something  happen  in  your 
first  talk  with  Mr.  Gentle  ?  " 

Phillip,  all  his  senses  now  acute,  anxious  to  probe  to 


MORAN    FINDS    HIS   MAN  273 

the  bottom  of  this  mystery,  acted  upon  her  suggestion. 
He  turned  to  Gentle. 

"  Did  something  happen,  Gentle  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Phillip,"  said  his  old  friend  gravely,  unwill- 
ingly, "  something  happened." 

Margaret's  mind  reverted  to  the  story  Gentle  had 
told  of  the  night  Phillip's  mother  sought  shelter  for 
herself  and  little  boy  in  Mrs.  Binney's  boarding  house. 
He  had  said  that  the  fault  had  been  the  father's,  not 
the  mother's. 

"  I  see ! "  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  enlightened, 
"  some  wrong  has  been  done." 

She  looked  expectantly  at  Gentle,  her  ally  thus  far 
in  her  attempts  to  counteract  Haggleton's  influence, 
but  he  evaded  her  eyes,  and  continued  to  look  at 
Phillip  with  ever-growing  gravity. 

"  Some  wrong  has  been  done,  and  Mr.  Gentle  knows 
it,"  persisted  Margaret,  roused  to  a  higher  pitch  by  his 
defection. 

"  Whatever  wrong  there  was,"  said  the  old  diver 
impressively,  "  will  be  atoned  for  nobly.  Your  father, 
Phillip,  will  put  aside  ten  million  dollars  for  a  splendid 
campaign  against  poverty." 

"  So  that's  how  he  managed  you,  Mr.  Gentle ! " 
cried  Margaret,  contempt  in  her  voice  and  tears  of  de- 
feat in  her  eyes.  Turning  upon  the  millionaire,  she 
said  with  biting  irony  : 

"  You  are  a  master  of  men,  Mr.  Haggleton !  You 
find  the  weak  point  in  each  man  and  use  it.  But  you 
must  learn  a  little  more  about  women.  You  have  shut 
Mr.  Gentle's  lips,  but  you  shan't  shut  mine !  My  name 
is  Margaret.  His  mother's  name  and  the  spirit  of  the 


274  THE   BATTLE 

wife  you  could  not  manage  are  here  in  the  girl  you 
cannot  manage." 

Gentle  interfered.  The  tolerant  wisdom  that  comes 
with  years  was  in  his  voice  as  he  protested : 

"  Margaret,  it  is  the  attribute  of  youth  to  be  severe. 
I  have  not  sold  my  silence.  This  money  is  for  the  poor 
— not  a  penny  of  it  is  for  me." 

He  dismissed  all  further  thought  of  himself  as  he 
addressed  the  young  man : 

"  Phillip,"  he  said  appealingly,  "  you  know  my  life. 
You  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  answer  came  without  hesitation  or  res- 
ervation. 

"  Then  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
have  done  what  your  mother  would  have  wished." 

But  Margaret  would  not  give  up  the  fight  for  the 
possession  of  her  lover,  the  very  life  of  her  love,  thus 
easily. 

"  That  is  not  for  you  to  decide,  Mr.  Gentle ! "  she 
cried.  "  The  question  now  is,  Have  you  evidence  of 
the  wrong  committed  by  Mr.  Haggleton  ?  " 

The  millionaire,  who  had  stood  by,  biding  his  time, 
now  again  took  the  management  of  the  discussion  into 
his  masterful  hands. 

"  One  moment,"  he  said  in  that  crisp,  penetrating 
voice  of  his,  which  commanded  attention.  The  other 
three  turned  to  him,  as  he  had  known  they  would,  and 
waited  for  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Phillip,"  he  went  on,  "  you  have  said  that  you  did 
not  want  to  judge  any  man.  Now  listen  well:  Can 
you  understand  a  man  doing  something  under  sudden 
temptation  that  he  regrets  afterwards?" 


MORAN    FINDS   HIS   MAN  275 

"  Yes,  I  can." 

"  Can  you  understand  that  there  might  be  some  one 
whom  this  man  loved  very  much;  who  would  suffer 
pain,  needless  pain,  if  told  what  he  had  done?  Can 
you  understand  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Phillip  once  more,  glancing  at  Mar- 
garet, "  I  can." 

"  That's  not  the  case,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "  This 
is  it:  Your  mother  deprived  you  of  your  name  and 
birthright.  That  was  a  monstrous  crime  unless  she 
had  justification.  You  can  understand  that?  " 

The  young  man  nodded  in  silent  perturbation. 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Lawrence,"  admitted  Gentle, 
suddenly  convinced. 

"  For  his  mother's  sake,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
Haggleton,  "  I'm  sorry— but —  Here,  Phillip." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  incriminating  docu- 
ment, in  its  envelope,  and  handed  it  to  the  young  man, 
who  took  it  hesitatingly,  uncertain  of  his  course  of 
action. 

"  Is  this  something  I  ought  to  read  ?  "  he  asked  of 
his  old  friend. 

"  In  my  opinion,  no.  That's  why  I  have  kept  it 
from  you.  But  if  you  insist " 

"  I  don't  insist,"  said  Phillip  hesitatingly,  the  un- 
opened envelope  still  in  his  hand. 

Haggleton  was  waiting,  watching  breathlessly.  The 
die  had  been  cast.  Again  he  was  biding  his  time. 

Phillip  made  a  movement  as  if  to  return  the  envelope 
to  Gentle,  who,  with  a  gesture,  refused  to  take  it. 

"Think  of  your  mother,  Phillip,"  implored  Mar- 
garet. 


276  THE   BATTLE 

Haggleton  saw  on  the  young  man's  face  that  he  had 
won,  even  before  the  words  were  spoken. 

"  My  mother  is  dead,"  said  Phillip  softly.  "  I  have 
a  right  to  think  a  little  of  my  father." 

"  Phillip ! "  Margaret's  voice  was  reproachful. 
Haggleton  still  maintained  his  watchful  silence. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,  Margaret,"  the  son  went 
on,  with  wistful  tenderness.  "  Whatever  you  do, 
wherever  you  go,  I  shall  always  love  you — always. 
I  love  Gentle,  too.  He  has  been  a  father  to  me — I 
trust  him.  He  knows  the  secret  of  this  paper — you 
don't.  He  can  judge,  and  " — with  a  sudden  rush  of 
appeal — "  let  me  do  my  duty,  dear,  as  I  feel  it !  I 
must!" 

He  went  over  to  the  stove,  threw  the  envelope  and 
its  secret  into  the  glowing  coals,  and  decided  solemnly : 

"  We  will  end  this  here." 

He  watched  the  flames  licking  around  the  edges  of 
the  paper,  singeing  them,  and  gradually  beginning  their 
work  of  destruction.  The  others  watched  him. 

The  flames  died  down,  leaving  an  oblong  of  black 
ashes,  curling  at  the  corners,  rapidly  turning  to  a  whit- 
ish gray. 

Phillip  lifted  his  eyes.  Margaret's  met  them,  full  of 
cold  determination. 

"  I  have  tried  to  save  you,  Phillip,"  she  said  sadly, 
"  and  I  have  failed.  I  am  going !  " 

She  moved  toward  the  door,  but  Haggleton's  voice 
stopped  her.  He  had  been  biding  his  time,  watching 
for  his  opportunity,  and  it  had  come.  He  would  de- 
liver the  master  stroke  that  would  rivet  Phillip  to  him 
forever,  or —  No,  there  was  no  alternative. 


MORAN   FINDS   HIS   MAN  277 

"  Do  not  go  yet,  Miss  Lawrence,"  he  was  saying. 
"  You  started  this  trouble,  now  you  will  see  it 
through." 

He  stopped  a  moment,  and  again,  as  a  moment  be- 
fore, the  others  looked  toward  him  expectant  of  what 
was  to  follow. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  burn  that  statement,"  he  went 
on  with  great  deliberation,  "  but  you  cannot  burn  the 
memory  of  it,  Phillip.  It  would  always  come  between 
you  and  me — always." 

Again  he  paused. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  was  in  that  paper," 
and  this  time  he  sounded  the  note  of  ultimate  decision 
that  many  an  opponent  of  his  had  heeded.  The  words 
that  followed  came  one  by  one,  low  but  clear-cut  in 
utterance : 

"  It  was  an  order  I  wrote  over  my  own  signature 
that  an  opposition  oil  refinery  should  be  destroyed." 

Phillip  shrank  back. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  a  crime.  Ah, 
that  is  why  my  mother  left  you !  " 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  moved  toward 
Margaret  at  the  closed  door.  Haggleton  pretended 
not  to  see  the  movement  and  its  meaning,  but  con- 
tinued in  a  dispassionate,  cool,  businesslike  voice,  in 
which  there  was  neither  apology  nor  pleading: 

"  We  were  desperate ;  our  whole  business  future  de- 
pended on  our  getting  control  of  the  field — we  had  to 
remove  that  opposition.  We  tried  to  buy  them  out, 
we  made  them  generous  offers,  but  that  stubborn  fool 
Lawrence " 

Margaret  rushed  forward. 


278  THE   BATTLE 

"  Stop ! "  she  cried,  "  you  are  speaking  of  my 
father." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Haggleton  simply. 

The  words  of  his  beloved  had  torn  down  the  last 
veil  that  hung  between  Phillip's  eyes  and  the  secret. 
His  mother — the  crime — Margaret!  Ah,  yes,  retribu- 
tion, and  the  sins  of  the  fathers ! 

He  staggered  a  little,  groping  blindly  for  support. 
The  dream  castles  of  his  future  lay  at  his  feet  in  ruins. 
It  was  all  finished  now,  for  whether  he  accepted  his 
father's  millions  or  refused  them,  he  would  still  be  his 
father's  son,  and  Margaret  her  father's  daughter,  with 
that  dreadful  crime  ever  lifting  its  head  between  them 
and  keeping  them  apart. 

"  Her  father,"  he  moaned,  "  and  I  am  this  man's 
son." 

Haggleton  decided  swiftly  that  he  must  destroy  this 
mood. 

"  There  is  no  use  making  this  out  worse  than  it  is," 
he  said  coldly.  "  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  did.  I  will 
do  whatever  you  think  is  right  in  the  matter." 

"  Whatever  I  think  is  right?"  asked  Phillip  in  sur- 
prise. He  thought  a  moment  deeply,  then  asked : 

"  How  much  were  you  worth  when  you  committed 
this  crime — a  million — half  a  million  ?  " 

"  Possibly.  But  what  is  your  idea  in  asking  me 
that?" 

"  I  thought,"  replied  Phillip  reflectively,  "  that  we 
might  consider  some  part  of  your  fortune  as  honestly 
earned  and  give  back  the  rest." 

"  To  whom  ?  "  There  was  bewilderment  in  Haggle- 
ton's  voice. 


MORAN    FINDS    HIS   MAN  279 

"  To  those  who  earned  it — the  people." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  how  rich  I  am?  " 

Phillip  interrupted  him,  hardly  heeding  him.  His 
voice  was  hard  now : 

"  You  are  to  keep  half  a  million.  The  rest  you  will 
give  back." 

Haggleton's  anger  flamed  up. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  will  do  such  a  crazy  thing?" 
he  shouted. 

Phillip  remained  unmoved.  In  the  same  level,  com- 
manding voice  he  continued : 

"  I  am  not  setting  myself  up  as  your  judge,  but  I 
can  dispose  of  my  life  and  decide  about  my  conduct. 
And  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not  be  known  as  the  con- 
senting son  of  a  man  whose  riches  have  come  from  a 
crime.  You  can  keep  all  your  fortune;  you  need  not 
give  back  a  penny  of  it,  but  you  cannot  have  me  under 
the  same  roof  with  you !  " 

Haggleton  stood  speechless  for  a  moment.  And  so 
it  was  defeat  at  the  very  moment  when  he  expected 
victory !  His  wife,  Gentle,  and  Margaret  had  won  the 
day. 

Rage  shook  him,  and  for  once  he  gave  it  free  rein. 
Why  curb  it  since  his  son  had  disappointed  him  ? 

"  I  thought  you  a  son  to  be  proud  of ! "  he  shouted. 
"  I  have  worked  hard  to  gain  your  confidence  and  af- 
fection, but  you  are  a  prig  and  a  fool !  I  came  down 
here  and  lived  with  you,  I  was  ready  to  learn  from 
you,  and  all  that  you  have  taught  me  is  that  you  are 
just  as  ignorant  and  selfish  as  all  reformers !  " 

"  Ignorant  ?  "    Phillip  was  offended. 

"  Selfish  ?  "     Margaret  was  indignant. 


280  THE   BATTLE 

The  millionaire  turned  to  her. 

"  If  you  were  not  selfish,"  he  said  with  ominous 
calm,  "  you  would  follow  that  boy  through  anything 
— through  weakness,  through  wickedness.  You 
would  stick  to  him  and  help  him  no  matter  who  his 
father  was — the  worse  the  father,  the  closer  you  would 
stick  to  the  son." 

He  paused  a  moment,  glaring  at  her. 

"  But  you  are  a  reformer,"  he  went  on,  with  infinite 
scorn.  "  So  you  quit  him  at  the  first  trouble.  He  is 
tempted  by  money,  and  you  clear  your  skirts  of  him 
as  my  wife  did  of  me !  He  can  go  to  the  devil,  if  he 
likes.  God,  girl !  if  that's  the  way  saints  love,  give  me 
sinners !  " 

"  Don't  speak  to  her  like  that !  "  commanded  Phillip. 

"  No  ?  Very  well,  then,  I  will  speak  to  you.  You 
have  had  the  greatest  opportunity  a  foolish  dreamer 
ever  wasted.  Go  tell  your  starving  tenement  friends 
that  John  J.  Haggleton  offered  them  ten  million  dol- 
lars, and  you  refused  it !  " 

He  looked  around  the  room,  took  up  his  hat,  and 
concluded  with  a  dry  laugh  in  his  throat: 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  the  experiment !  " 

A  change  came  over  him.  He  had  softened  during 
those  weeks  in  looks  and  bearing  and  manners  under 
the  influence  of  the  experiment  and  the  hope  of  its  re- 
ward. Now  he  suddenly  became  the  cold,  imperious 
money  king  again.  He  did  not  look  at  them  as  he 
strode  toward  the  door  with  the  insolence  of  long 
supremacy. 

His  hand  was  on  the  knob,  when  it  was  flung  open 
from  without. 


MORAN   FINDS   HIS   MAN  281 

Moran,  half  drunk,  insane  with  rage  and  grief, 
rushed  in,  dragging  behind  him  his  daughter  in  her 
cheap  finery,  terrified  and  ghastly  under  the  paint  on 
her  cheeks. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  thundered,  "  you  wait !  I  found 
her  in  that  Tenderloin  dive!  There  is  more  of  your 
devil's  work,  Jackson !  " 

"My  work?" 

Haggleton  spoke  distantly,  from  the  top  of  the  social 
ladder  to  the  bottom. 

His  tone  infuriated  Moran  still  more. 

"  Yes,  your  work,"  he  insisted  threateningly,  "  the 
harvest  of  your  bakeshop  trusts !  It's  your  robber  sys- 
tem that  crushes  men  and  ruins  women — it  is  the 
Haggleton  system !  " 

"  You're  crazy !  "  The  same  tone  of  cool  contempt, 
of  immeasurable  distance. 

"  Who  made  me  crazy  ?  "  bellowed  Moran,  now  be- 
yond all  control.  "  John  Haggleton  did !  He  ruined 
my  little  business  in  the  West,  he  killed  my  wife  in 
this  foul  tenement  of  his!  By  God!  if  I  had  him 
here,  I — I  would  show  him." 

Haggleton  turned  full  upon  him,  glaring. 

"  Well,  show  me,"  he  challenged.  "  /  am  Haggle- 
ton!" 

Moran  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  with  light- 
ning quickness. 

"  Father !  Look  out !  Oh !  "  The  warning  cries 
came  from  Jenny,  from  Phillip,  from  Margaret,  but 
before  Gentle,  who  stood  nearest  the  half-insane  man, 
could  grasp  him,  the  pistol  was  leveled,  flashed, 
and 


282  THE   BATTLE 

"  Phillip !  My  son ! "  cried  Haggleton,  for  the 
young  man  had  flung  himself  before  his  father  and 
received  the  bullet  in  his  chest. 

"  My  son !  "  cried  Haggleton  again,  catching  him  in 
his  arms  and  lowering  him  to  the  ground.  None 
heeded  Moran,  whom  Gentle  had  disarmed,  and  who 
was  cowering  against  the  wall.  The  old  diver,  Jenny, 
and  Margaret  crowded  around  the  father  on  his  knees 
over  the  prostrate  form  of  his  son. 

Haggleton  looked  up  at  them. 

"  This  is  your  gratitude,"  he  said  pathetically  to 
Gentle.  "  He  risked  his  life  for  me — "  There  was  tri- 
umph in  the  voice  that  addressed  Margaret. 

"  I  told  you  that  nothing  could  keep  us  apart ;  it 
is  the  call  of  the  blood!  Now  he  is  mine,  mine !  I  am 
going  to  take  him  home !  " 

His  voice  broke  as  he  gathered  his  unconscious  son 
closer  in  his  arms  and  kissed  his  forehead: 

"  My  boy !    My  boy !    My  little  boy !  " 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

MARGARET    UNVANQUISHED 

THERE  followed  weeks  of  pain  and  anxiety  in 
the  great  Haggleton  mansion  in  Fifth  Avenue. 
By  the  wonderful  efforts  of  Grimes  and  a  corps  of 
secretaries  the  truth  was  kept  from  the  newspapers; 
that  is,  the  truth  about  the  shooting  and  about  Hag- 
gleton's  sojourn  in  a  tenement;  but  there  was  no 
hiding  the  facts  themselves.  The  one  supreme  fact, 
that  a  long-lost  son  of  this  multimillionaire  had  some- 
how been  restored  to  his  father,  was  not  hidden  at 
all ;  on  the  contrary,  by  Haggleton's  orders  the  widest 
publicity  was  given  to  it. 

As  a  result  there  was  much  speculation  and  sensa- 
tional hinting  at  mysteries  within  mysteries  touching 
Phillip  Ames,  this  young  diver,  now  announced  to  the 
social  and  financial  world  as  Phillip  Haggleton,  sole 
heir  to  the  greatest  fortune  in  America,  at  present  toss- 
ing on  his  bed  of  fever,  hanging  between  life  and  death, 
yet  gaining  slowly. 

Meantime,  Phillip  was  passing  through  a  moral  as 
well  as  a  physical  crisis.  In  his  weakness  and  suffer- 
ing, in  the  long  restless  nights,  in  his  days  of  increas- 
ing strength  and  courage,  in  every  moment  of  wake- 
fulness  or  half  wakefulness,  there  was  present  before 

283 


284  THE   BATTLE 

him,  vaguely  or  distinctly,  this  one  thought,  that  a 
sudden  and  tremendous  responsibility  had  been  placed 
upon  him.  He  was  no  longer  an  obscure  working- 
man,  but  a  prince  of  the  earth,  the  son  of  John  J. 
Haggleton,  the  only  son!  Nothing  could  change  this 
truth,  nothing,  and  its  import  upon  his  life  and  other 
lives  was  so  urgent  and  compelling  that — well,  what 
should  he  do  about  it  ?  What  course  should  he  decide 
upon?  Here  were  dreams  of  his  eager  youth  in  the 
way  of  amazing  realization. 

And  this  stern,  worldly  man,  dreaded  by  thousands, 
envied  by  millions,  this  great  lord  of  taskmasters, 
here  he  was,  this  richest  man  in  America,  Phillip's 
own  father,  ready  and  eager  to  please  him  with  un- 
told benefactions;  to  do  good  instead  of  evil,  to  make 
amends  for — for  the  past,  as  he  had  vowed  in  tender, 
broken  words  at  that  tortured  bedside,  while  he  waited 
and  hoped  that  his  son's  life  might  be  spared  him. 

He  would  tear  down  Lung  Block,  or  rather  Phillip 
himself  could  do  it  in  accordance  with  the  most  ad- 
vanced ideas  of  service  to  the  poor.  And  he  would  put 
aside  several  millions  for  immediate  steps  toward  solv- 
ing that  problem,  and  several  millions  more  for  mis- 
cellaneous charities  in  which  his  son  might  be  inter- 
ested. In  short,  Phillip  would  have  at  least  ten 
millions  at  his  disposal  in  the  campaign  of  practical 
reform  that  he  wished  to  enter  upon.  Ten  million 
dollars ! 

Margaret,  who  had  accompanied  Phillip  from  Mo- 
ran's  rooms  to  Haggleton's  mansion,  and  had  nursed 
him  with  a  sort  of  passionate  intensity,  became  the 
confidant  of  his  plans  and  his  perplexities  in  the  days 


MARGARET   UNVANQUISHED         285 

of  his  convalescence.  True  to  her  professional  train- 
ing, she  did  not  disturb  her  patient  by  contradiction, 
but — she  managed  to  maintain  a  certain  reserve  in 
their  talks,  although  Phillip  always  associated  her  inti- 
mately with  his  plans  for  the  future. 

He  assumed  that  the  catastrophe  had  wiped  out  the 
past,  that  the  obstacle  which  had  risen  between  them 
had  been  leveled  by  it,  that  Margaret  was  to  become 
his  wife  after  all,  and  his  father's  daughter — that  she 
had  forgiven,  if  not  forgotten,  that  the  offering  of 
atonement  made  to  his  mother's  memory  would  be  al- 
lowed to  burn  on  her  father's  altar  as  well. 

Her  evasive  answers  when  he  spoke  of  their  coming 
marriage  worried  him  a  little,  but  her  professional  as- 
sertion that  for  the  present  his  mind  must  be  set  first 
of  all  upon  his  recovery,  reassured  him  in  a  measure. 
She  was  but  repeating  what  the  eminent  physicians 
who  surrounded  the  bed  of  this  crown  prince  of  wealth 
told  him  daily.  She  assured  him  frankly  and  truth- 
fully that  she  still  loved  him,  but  here  her  assurances 
stopped.  The  time  to  tell  him  the  full  truth  would  not 
come  until  he  left  his  bed  and  her  task  as  his  nurse  was 
ended. 

Her  mind  was  fully  made  up.  No,  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  marry  the  son  of  a  man  who  had  de- 
stroyed, and,  in  a  way,  disgraced  her  father.  With 
all  the  force  of  her  soul  she  hated  the  name  of  Haggle- 
ton  and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  bear  it. 

She  loved  Phillip,  loved  him  in  spite  of  this  hateful 
relationship ;  she  would  have  married  him  joyfully  as 
Phillip  Ames,  a  man  of  the  people,  she  would  have 
married  him  in  poverty,  in  obscurity,  in  sickness,  in 


286  THE   BATTLE 

anything  except  his  present  state — that  was  the  only 
thing  she  could  not  and  would  not  share  with  him. 

It  was  sad  for  both  of  them,  terribly  sad.  She  had 
tortured  her  mind  to  find  some  issue  from  the  diffi- 
culty, but  could  find  none.  So  there  was  nothing  more 
to  say;  she  could  not  marry  him.  Yes,  it  was  God 
bless  you,  and  good-by,  for  she  no  longer  dreamed  of 
winning  him  away  from  his  new  allegiance.  That  bat- 
tle had  been  lost ! 

Her  relations  with  the  millionaire  were  peculiar  and 
difficult.  He  tactfully  evaded  her  and  spoke  to  her 
as  little  as  possible.  He  knew  that  his  presence  must 
be  disagreeable  to  her,  that  it  evoked  the  bitterest 
memories  of  her  life,  and  yet  it  was  unavoidable  that 
time  and  again  they  should  stand  side  by  side  watch- 
ing over  the  patient  in  moments  when  the  fever  rose 
and  his  chances  of  recovery  seemed  doubtful. 

It  was  then  that  they  listened  together  to  his  de- 
lirious mutterings,  in  which  his  love  for  her,  his  ad- 
miration and  affection  for  him,  his  reverence  for  his 
mother's  memory,  his  perplexity  over  the  wrong  com- 
mitted, were  intermingled  and  confused. 

They  shared  each  other's  anxiety,  there  grew  up  be- 
tween them  the  bond  of  hopes  and  fears,  until,  disci- 
pline herself  as  she  would,  Margaret  could  not  keep 
herself  from  feeling  a  profound  sympathy  for  this 
man  of  iron  as  she  came  to  understand  the  softer,  the 
better  side  of  his  nature,  parched  by  long  years  of 
loneliness,  now  pouring  forth  a  rushing  stream  of  un- 
selfish, generous  love  in  the  possession  of  its  natural 
object — his  son! 

She  began  to  like  him,  to  admire  the  unvarying 


MARGARET   UNVANQUISHED         287 

readiness  of  resource,  the  determination  and  efficiency 
that  always  were  at  his  service  in  the  sick  room,  as  they 
had  been  in  the  marts  of  men  and  in  Moran's  tene- 
ment. 

Often,  too,  she  was  present,  at  Phillip's  urgent  re- 
quest, at  the  talks  between  father  and  son  concerning 
the  son's  plans  for  his  benefactions  to  the  poor.  Then 
she  could  not  withhold  her  admiration  from  the  master 
mind  that  had  probed  so  deeply  and  seen  so  clearly  in 
so  short  a  time.  Haggleton's  organizing  genius  here 
shone  forth.  It  demonstrated  to  her  the  practical  su- 
periority of  the  economical  philanthropy  of  brain  over 
the  sentimental  philanthropy  of  the  heart.  She  learned 
to  rely  on  Haggleton's  judgment;  his  ideas  on  the 
subject  imperceptibly  but  steadily  reformed  hers. 

Haggleton  was  fighting  his  final  battle.  He  had 
conquered  Phillip,  Gentle,  Joe  Caffrey,  Jenny — Moran, 
even,  repentant  in  his  cell  awaiting  trial.  Now  he  was 
seeking  to  conquer  Margaret,  and,  as  in  all  these  other 
conquests,  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  son. 

But  Margaret  steeled  her  heart.  Her  resolution  re- 
mained unshaken,  even  though  it  was  no  longer  the 
stronger  impulse  of  her  divided  feelings,  but  the  re- 
sult of  an  effort  of  the  will. 

Gentle  had  long  since  surrendered  to  the  enemy, 
gone  over  to  his  camp,  bag  and  baggage,  his  almoner 
already,  marveling  every  day  at  the  way  Haggleton 
had  of  making  every  one  of  his  preliminary  gifts  to  the 
poor  yield  its  hundred  per  cent  of  benefit. 

Jenny  had  been  provided  for.  Haggleton  had  seen 
to  this,  too.  The  girl  must  work  out  her  own  salvation, 
but,  unknown  to  her,  the  roughness  of  the  path  had 


288  THE   BATTLE 

been  smoothed  sufficiently  to  make  the  rocks  stepping- 
stones,  not  points  of  disaster. 

And  the  bakery  trust,  forgotten  now,  flourished.  It 
was  selling  better  bread  and  cheaper  bread  to  the 
whole  East  Side.  Joe  Caffrey  had  found  himself  there. 
He  was  in  temporary  charge  of  the  offices  in  Moran's 
transformed  rooms.  "If  you  want  to  make  a  lazy  man 
hustle,  give  him  a  job  bossing  somebody  else,"  Hag- 
gleton  had  said  laughingly  to  Gentle. 

Thus  three  weeks  passed,  weeks  of  diminishing  anx- 
iety. Phillip  had  been  declared  out  of  danger,  and 
was  to  make  his  first  appearance  at  the  dinner  table 
that  night.  Margaret's  service  as  a  nurse  had  come 
to  an  end.  She  must  make  her  final  choice. 

Haggleton  left  her  alone  with  him,  in  his  usual 
mental  attitude  of  preparedness  for  whatever  might 
happen,  hoping  that  he  had  won  her  for  Phillip,  and 
Phillip  for  himself. 

The  rumors  about  the  whole  affair  had  grown  so 
thick  that  he  had  resolved  to  take  the  public  into  his 
confidence  to  a  certain,  well-calculated  extent,  and  he 
had  sent,  not  for  the  reporters  of  the  daily  press,  but 
for  James  Langston,  a  writer  for  high-class  monthly 
magazines,  a  sound  student  of  the  problems  of  poverty, 
whose  signature  carried  the  greatest  weight.  He  re- 
ceived this  influential  personage  in  his  library,  and  told 
him,  in  Gentle's  presence,  the  main  facts  of  his  experi- 
ence, giving  him  permission  to  make  whatever  use  of 
them  he  chose  in  the  New  England  Review. 

But  Langston  was  a  master  interviewer,  who  ever 
probed  beyond  the  facts  themselves  for  their  deeper 
meaning,  and  he  was  a  psychologist. 


MARGARET   UNVANQUISHED         289 

So,  when  Haggleton  had  made  his  statement,  and 
added,  "I  think  that's  about  everything,"  Langston 
said  determinedly: 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Haggleton  —  there  is  another 
point.  You  have  given  me  the  facts,  but  I  would  like 
to  get  their  significance.  The  New  England  Review 
is  a  serious  magazine." 

"  I  know." 

"  It  is  nearly  a  month  since  the  shooting  occurred," 
continued  Langston.  "  You  have  had  time,  and  Mr. 
Gentle,  here,  too,  to  study  the  lesson  of  this  tenement 
experience.  That's  what  I  want  to  present,  the  lesson 
of  it." 

"  The  lesson  ?  "  Haggleton  waited  a  moment.  "  I 
haven't  thought  of  any  lesson,"  he  explained.  "  I 
have  been  sitting  at  the  bedside  of  my  boy,  and — 
thank  God,  he  has  pulled  through ! " 

"  I  understand  your  feelings,  but — the  press  said 
you  went  down  there  to  prove  certain  things." 

"  I  went  down  there  to  get  my  son." 

"  Yes,  but  may  I  ask  how  you  got  him  ?  Did  he 
convince  you,  or  did  you  convince  him  ?  " 

"  When  you  have  love,  Mr.  Langston,  there  is  no 
need  of  argument." 

"  But  can't  you  be  more  specific,  Mr.  Haggleton  ? 
Have  you  no  message  for  the  muck-rakers  ?  " 

The  millionaire  got  up  and  spoke  with  ready  author- 
ity. Yes,  he  had  something  to  say  on  that  subject : 

"  Tell  them  to  stop  their  snarling.  Let  them  preach 
the  gospel  of  hope.  It  isn't  sneers  and  whining  that 
our  young  men  need.  It's  courage  and  self-denial  and 
brains.  Nothing  can  keep  a  man  down  if  he'll  work 


2QO  THE   BATTLE 

and  wait  and  deny  himself.  Nothing !  He'll  drive  out 
the  incompetent  man  who  bosses  him  just  as  surely 
as  freezing  water  splits  a  rock.  Tell  your  readers 
that!" 

"  Then  it's  a  lesson  of  courage  and  self-denial  ?  " 

"  And  hope." 

Langston  had  got  what  he  was  in  search  of.  He 
always  did.  Now  he  rose,  took  his  leave,  and  left 
the  library. 

Haggleton  turned  to  the  large  picture  of  his  wife 
and  their  infant  son  over  the  mantelpiece  and  looked 
at  it. 

"  This  man  congratulates  me  on  recovering  my  son," 
he  said  sadly ;  "  how  little  he  knows !  " 

"  You  have  recovered  your  son,  Mr.  Haggleton," 
Gentle  answered  with  reassuring  conviction.  "  Phillip 
answered  the  call  of  the  blood,  as  you  said  he  would. 
He  loves  you." 

"  Yes,  he  loves  me.  That's  the  great,  precious  fact 
— my  boy  loves  me.  But  he  loves  this  girl,  too,  and — 
she  won't  change.  I  have  watched  her  all  these  weeks 
while  she  has  been  nursing  Phillip.  The  doctor  says 
that  he  owes  his  life  to  her  devotion,  but — no,  she 
won't  change,  she  can't  forget." 

"  She  can  forgive." 

"  I  doubt  it,  and  I  don't  blame  her.  I  like  her. 
She  has  narrow  ideas,  but  she  holds  to  them  hard ! 
I'd  rather  have  a  person  strongly  wrong  than  weakly 
right." 

"  She  will  never  leave  Phillip  now,"  persisted  Gentle. 

"  Suppose  she  makes  Phillip  leave  me  ?  " 

"  It's  inconceivable !  " 


MARGARET   UNVANQUISHED         291 

"  Nothing  is  inconceivable,  Mr.  Gentle,  when  a  good 
woman  thinks  that  she  is  fighting  a  bad  man.  A  con- 
scientious woman  has  no  scruples." 

"  At  any  rate,  she  must  speak  out  soon." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  her  work  is  finished.  Phillip  is  to 
join  us  at  dinner  to-night.  My  boy !  At  my  table !  " 

A  servant  entered. 

"  There's  a  person  asking  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  an- 
nounced. "  He  says  his  name  is  Joe  Caffrey." 

"Is  he  alone?" 

"  No,  sir.  There  is  another  person  with  him,  a 
woman." 

"  It's  Jenny,"  said  Gentle  in  an  undertone.  "  They 
want  to  plead  for  Moran,  I  guess.  His  case  conies  up 
next  week." 

"  Show  them  both  in,"  ordered  Haggleton.  The 
servant  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"  How  was  Moran  when  you  last  saw  him  in  the 
Tombs  ?  "  asked  the  millionaire  of  the  old  diver,  who 
answered : 

"  Sincerely  sorry  for  what  he  did.  When  I  told 
him  what  you  have  done  for  Jenny,  he  broke  down." 

"  I'll  see  that  he  is  dealt  with  leniently.  After  all, 
his  mad  act  was  prompted  by  a  father's  love,  like 
mine." 

The  servant  opened  the  door  again  and  admitted 
Joe  Caffrey,  followed  timidly  by  Jenny. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE   BATTLE   WON 

JOE  was  gorgeously  attired,  according  to  his  own 
ideas.  He  wore  a  brown  suit  with  large  and  loud 
checks  —  green  and  yellow  and  red  —  a  blue-striped 
shirt,  a  green  knotted  silk  tie  with  a  flashing  scarf  pin, 
and  a  green  Tyrolean  hat,  which  for  the  moment  he 
held  respectfully  in  his  hand.  His  face  shone  and 
glowed  with  the  painful  effects  of  a  severe  shave ;  his 
glistening  hair  was  "  slicked  down  "  with  all  the  in- 
judicious thoroughness  of  the  Bowery  barber  shop. 

Jenny  was  neatly  dressed  in  black,  and  kept  her 
eyes  cast  down.  Haggleton  was  again  struck  by  her 
beauty  and  her  innate  good  taste  of  manner. 

Joe  felt  the  assurance  which  he  had  expected  his 
attire  would  give  him  oozing  out  of  his  shining  shoes 
as  he  gazed  around  him  at  the  dignified  magnificence 
of  the  library. 

"  Gee ! "  he  exclaimed  involuntarily,  "  this  is  a 
swell  shop !  " 

"  Good  evening,  Jenny,"  said  Haggleton  kindly. 
"  How  are  you,  Joe  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,  Mr.  Jackson — Mr.  Haggleton,  I 
mean." 

Joe  had  something  serious  to  say,  and  determined 
to  get  it  off  his  mind  as  soon  as  possible.  He  glanced 
at  Jenny  and  said : 

292 


THE   BATTLE   WON  293 

"  Say,  Mr.  Haggleton,  Jenny's  got  something  to  say 
to  you.  It's  important.  That's  why  we've  come. 
Soon's  she  told  me  I  had  an  intuition." 

The  millionaire  turned  to  the  girl. 

"Well,  Jenny?" 

His  voice  was  very  gentle.  Jenny  gave  him  a  shy 
glance  of  gratitude. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Haggleton," 
she  began  diffidently,  "  and — and — I  would  rather  tell 
you  alone." 

Gentle  got  up. 

"  Come  along,  Joe,"  he  said,  carrying  the  young 
man  with  him. 

When  he  was  alone  with  the  girl  the  millionaire 
repeated  his  question. 

"Well,  Jenny?" 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Haggleton,  I  told  you,  after  my 
husband  was  killed  he  left  me  with  a  little  baby  and 
no  money.  So  I  had  to  go  out  as  wet  nurse.  I  sent 
my  child,  my  beautiful  baby  girl,  to  a  baby  farm,  and 
she  died.  They  always  do." 

"  I  am  afraid  so." 

"  I  was  all  alone,  and  so  lonely  in  that  beautiful 
house,  and  he — Mr.  Lawrence " 

"  Yes,  Jenny.    I  know  it  all.     You  told  me." 

Haggleton  was  beginning  to  be  interested.  He 
thought  he  saw  the  direction  of  Jenny's  thought.  She 
suddenly  plucked  up  courage. 

"  I  can  prove  it  all,"  she  announced  triumphantly. 
"  I  have  his  letters  here." 

Haggleton  had  often  thought  of  this  skeleton  in  the 
family  closet  of  the  unsuspecting  Margaret  when  she 


294  THE   BATTLE 

had  Betrayed  more  plainly  than  usually  her  youthful 
contempt  for  the  weaknesses  and  stumblings  of  poor 
human  nature.  But  of  these  letters  he  had  known  noth- 
ing. So  there  were  incriminating  documents  in  the 
house  of  Lawrence  as  well  as  in  that  of  Haggleton! 
Well,  well! 

Jenny  held  out  the  package  of  letters  to  him. 

"  Do  you  want  them  ?  "  she  said  impulsively. 

He  saw  her  meaning  plainly  now,  but  refused  to 
play  this  card  thus  unexpectedly  put  into  his  hands  at 
the  critical  moment. 

"  Why  should  I  take  these  letters  ?  "  he  asked. 

Jenny  took  the  plunge  in  desperation. 

"  I  know  more  than  you  think,  Mr.  Haggleton," 
she  announced.  "  I  watched  that  girl,  Miss  Lawrence. 
She  is  proud,  she  looks  down  on  you,  and — these  let- 
ters would  help." 

"  Help  what  ?    They  would  make  her  unhappy." 

"  Why  shouldn't  she  be  unhappy  ?  She  makes 
others  unhappy !  "  the  girl  burst  out  bitterly.  "  I  am 
unhappy." 

"  So  am  I  unhappy,"  said  the  millionaire  simply ; 
"  but,  Jenny,"  he  continued  gravely,  "  you  can't  get 
happiness  for  yourself  by  taking  it  away  from  some- 
body else.  You  don't  want  to  hurt  Phil  ?  " 

"No!    No!    Indeed,  not!" 

"  Then  forget  all  this.  Make  a  clean  start.  You 
have  a  chance,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have  given  me  a  chance." 

Again  that  look  of  gratitude,  of  unselfish  devotion 
in  Jenny's  dark  eyes.  And  now  her  better  nature  won, 
as  it  always  did  when  an  appeal  was  made  to  it. 


THE   BATTLE   WON  295 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  she  said  with  frank  contrition.  "  It's 
wrong!  Joe  suggested  it.  I  will  destroy  the  letters. 
No !  You  destroy  them !  " 

She  laid  the  package  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  "  I  will  burn  them." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  door. 

"  Good  night,  Jenny,  and  good  luck  to  you.  You 
will  find  Joe  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  can  go  out  with 
him." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  sir,"  she  stammered,  "  tell  Phil 
that  I  wish  him  luck.  Good  night !  " 

She  was  gone. 

Haggleton  returned  to  the  table,  took  up  the  pack- 
age of  letters,  and  looked  at  it  passively.  Here  was 
his  last  trump!  He  knew  it.  He  had  already  won 
all  along  the  line,  but  at  what  cost!  His  victory,  his 
gain,  his  happiness  must  be  bought  at  the  price  of  his 
son's  loss  of  what  he  held  most  dear.  Phillip  had 
found  his  father,  but  he  could  only  hold  him  by  re- 
nouncing the  woman  who  had  promised  to  be  his  wife, 
or,  to  win  her  again,  he  must  give  up  his  father. 

Haggleton  stirred  impatiently.  Why  could  not 
Margaret  be  a  little  reasonable,  a  little  more  human? 
Why  did  wisdom  come  so  late  in  life  ? 

These  letters  might  prove  to  her  that  she  had  no 
right  to  judge  and  condemn  Phillip's  father— they 
would  lower  her  pride,  teach  her  tolerance  and  under- 
standing and  charity.  But  then— it  would  make  her 
unhappy,  and,  should  Phillip  ever  know 

She  had  not  scrupled  to  fight  him  with  such  a 
weapon.  He  would  not  stoop  to  her  level. 

But  in  that  case  Phillip  would  pay  the  price!    He 


296  THE   BATTLE 

must  make  his  choice  between  two  sacrifices — his 
father  or  his  love.  The  vicious  circle  could  not  be 
broken. 

Haggleton  weighed  the  package  in  his  hands,  pon- 
dering. Gradually  the  cloud  passed  from  his  face,  a 
light  came  into  his  eyes.  He  had  found  the  way ! 

Phillip  should  not  suffer.  It  was  he,  Haggleton, 
who  would  renounce.  The  road  lay  clear  before  him 
now. 

He  had  learned  to  do  his  loving  himself! 

He  approached  the  open  fire  in  the  huge  fireplace, 
but  before  he  could  thrust  into  its  glow  the  compro- 
mising letters,  Margaret  and  Gentle  entered.  He 
hastily  placed  the  package  on  the  mantelpiece,  and 
faced  around  interrogatively. 

Margaret  was  in  street  costume,  her  hat  pinned  on, 
her  veil  lifted  to  the  tip  of  her  nose.  She  was  nerv- 
ously drawing  on  her  gloves. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Haggleton.  "  Are  you  going 
out,  Miss  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  Miss  Lawrence  is  leaving  us,"  said  Gentle.  His 
voice  was  grieved  and  disapproving. 

"  You  are  leaving  us  for  good  ?  "  Haggleton  asked 
in  a  level,  inexpressive  tone. 

"  Yes — er — I — my  work  here  is  done." 

She  looked  at  him  with  more  of  apology  than  of 
defiance  or  judgment. 

"  Don't  judge  me  too  severely,"  she  added ;  "  I  have 
fought  so  hard  all  these  weeks  at  Phillip's  bedside  to 
hold  to  my  duty." 

Haggleton  ignored  this.  He  went  straight  to  the 
point : 


THE   BATTLE   WON  297 

"  You  are  not  going  to  marry  Phillip?  " 

"  No !  You  and  he  are  pne  flesh,  as  you  said  your- 
self. I  have  no  right  to  come  between  you." 

"  But  you  love  him  still  ?  " 

"  I  love  him  more !  " 

The  avowal  was  made  with  almost  painful  intensity. 
Haggleton  looked  at  her  a  moment,  wondering  at  the 
way  many  people  have  of  believing  self-inflicted  and 
unnecessary  pain  the  highest  form  of  morality.  He 
decided  to  make  an  appeal  to  the  love  she  had  just 
confessed : 

"  This  will  be  a  great  shock  to  Phillip.  It  may  set 
back  his  recovery." 

The  girl  saw  his  intent.  Her  face  grew  cold  and 
obstinate. 

"  He  is  quite  well,"  she  answered  in  her  professional 
tone,  "  and — he  is  a  man." 

"  Listen  to  me." 

The  simple  words  again  had  that  unfailing  effect  of 
commanding  attention.  Gentle  bent  forward,  but  Mar- 
garet steeled  herself. 

"  There  is  nothing  you  can  say,"  she  announced, 
"  that  I  have  not  said  to  myself.  It's  no  use.  I  can- 
not change." 

Haggleton  walked  slowly  to  the  mantelpiece  and 
took  up  the  package  of  letters. 

"  No,"  he  said,  half  aloud,  as  if  to  himself,  "  you 
cannot  change." 

She  loved  Phillip,  oh,  yes,  he  reflected,  but  she  loved 
her  grievance  more,  and  most  of  all  her  conception 
of  her  own  superior  righteousness,  her  fancied  right 
to  sit  in  judgment 


298  THE   BATTLE 

He  stood  there  near  the  fire,  its  glow  ruddying  his 
strong,  pale  face.  He  looked  tired  and  old,  but  in  his 
eyes  shone  a  great  light. 

Margaret  took  a  step  toward  the  door.  She  was 
determined  to  end  this  painful  interview. 

"  I  cannot  live  under  this  roof,"  she  announced  with 
an  air  of  finality — "  under  the  same  roof  with  the  man 
who  ruined  my  father." 

"  It  is  bad  business  ruining  another  person,  eh  ?  " 
asked  Haggleton  in  a  curious  tone  of  voice. 

He  looked  again  at  the  bundle  in  his  hands,  then 
turned  and  threw  it  into  the  fire,  watching  the  flames 
leap  up  around  it,  as  if  anxious  to  destroy  its  con- 
demning evidence. 

Margaret  watched  him  anxiously.  What  were  those 
papers — why  did  he  destroy  them  now  ? 

"  Well,"  announced  the  millionaire,  lifting  his 
bowed  head  and  squaring  his  drooping  shoulders, 
"  I  will  get  my  son.  You  renounce  him,  you  do 
not  even  offer  him  his  choice,  but,  as  you  say,  he 
is  a  man." 

He  went  to  the  door,  passing  Margaret  without 
looking  at  her.  With  his  hand  on  the  knob  he  turned 
and  added: 

"  Whatever  happens,  I  want  you  two  to  know  that 
I  have  had  more  happiness  in  the  last  few  weeks,  since 
that  shot  was  fired,  than  in  all  the  rest  of  my  life  put 
together.  I  have  had  my  son  for  six  weeks !  " 

He  went  out,  softly  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  It's  all  right,  is  it  not,  Margaret  ?  "  pleaded  Gen- 
tle; "you  are  not  going  away?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  I  must." 


THE    BATTLE   WON  299 

"  You  can't  be  indifferent  to  such  a  sincere  repent- 
ance? You  can't  resist  such  love— or  such  pain? 
Look !  Have  you  the  heart " 

The  door  opened  again  and  Phillip  entered, 
pale,  weak,  listless,  his  slow  steps  supported  by  his 
father. 

"  He  knows  now  that  your  decision  cannot  be 
shaken,"  said  Haggleton  to  Margaret.  "  It  was  best 
that  his  father  should  tell  him." 

"  Margaret !  "  implored  Phillip  from  the  chair  into 
which  he  had  sunk,  exhausted. 

"  Phillip !  " 

There  was  agony  in  her  voice  as  she  sank  down 
on  her  knees  beside  him,  clasping  his  hands  and  lean- 
ing her  forehead  against  his  arm. 

"  Wait !  " 

Haggleton  spoke  again  in  that  curiously  level, 
enigmatic,  commanding  tone  of  his.  Phillip  looked  at 
him  wearily.  Margaret,  still  beside  him,  lifted  her 
head.  Gentle  again  was  all  attention. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  argue  or  plead,"  announced 
the  millionaire,  "  I  am  going  to  yield.  I  have  done 
wrong — I  have  got  to  suffer.  That's  the  eternal  law! 
Well,  I  will  suffer." 

"  No !  "  cried  Phillip,  Margaret  forgotten  for  the 
moment. 

"  My  son,  I  have  only  a  few  more  years  before  me. 
You  have  a  lifetime  before  you — with  her.  You  have 
the  best  thing  in  the  world,  as  I  had  once,  the  love  of 
a  good  woman." 

He  turned  toward  the  picture  of  his  wife  and 
looked  at  it,  then  continued: 


300  THE   BATTLE 

"  Don't  lose  that  love,  my  boy,  as  I  did.  Don't  let 
anything  part  you  from  it,  not  even  your  father !  " 

A  tense  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  It  lasted  until 
it  became  almost  unendurable.  The  level  voice  con- 
tinued : 

"  You  must  go  with  her.  It  is  I  who  must  renounce. 
It  is  my  wish.  And — we  can  see  each  other  once  in 
a  while." 

With  a  still,  trembling  little  smile,  he  asked  of  Mar- 
garet : 

"  It  won't  hurt  him  to  see  his  father  once  in  a  while, 
will  it?" 

Margaret  rose  to  her  feet  precipitately.  Her  pride 
was  broken,  her  enmity  dissipated.  A  realization  of 
the  grandeur  and  dignity  of  this  sacrifice,  so  simply 
proffered,  overwhelmed  her,  and  filled  her  heart  with 
humility  and  contrition  and  love  and  the  impulse  of 
atonement 

"I  can't  do  it!"  she  cried.  "I  am  not  going!  I 
love  you,  too !  " 

The  three  were  in  each  other's  arms.  Gentle  turned 
away  deeply  moved. 

Thus  they  stood  for  a  long  while,  in  silent  realiza- 
tion of  their  happiness,  found  at  last. 

"  My  daughter !    My  son !  " 

Haggleton's  voice  trembled,  but  he  steadied  it  with 
an  effort  to  say: 

"  I  will  devote  the  rest  of  my  life  to  business — don't 
look  astonished — the  business  of  making  you  happy. 
And  we  will  make  the  poor  happy,  too,  if  that  will 
make  you  happier.  See  here,  I  am  going  to  put  ten 
million  dollars  aside  for  you  three — for  my  son,  my 


THE  BATTLE  WON  301 

daughter,  and  our  good  friend  Gentle.    You  shall  be 
custodians." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  smiled  whim- 
sically as  he  went  on : 

"  I  may  give  you  a  little — ahem ! — advice  from  time 
to  time,  but,  in  the  main,  I  want  you  to  swing  the  thing 
yourselves.  You  have  spent  a  good  many  years  study- 
ing these  problems  of  poverty,  and  doubtless  know 
the  very  best  plan  to  follow." 

A  twinkle  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  asked : 

"  Now,  what  scheme  would  you  propose  to  utilize 
ten  million  dollars  in  helping  the  poor  of  this  city 
without  demoralizing  them  ?  It's  up  to  you !  " 

"  Ten  million  dollars !  "  speculated  Gentle.  "  We 
could  cover  this  island  with  model  tenements ! " 

"  Cover  the  island !  "  cried  Phillip.  "  We  could  build 
about  fifty!  And  they  would  never  pay.  We  would 
waste  our  millions !  " 

Haggleton  was  watching  them,  the  twinkle  still  in 
his  eyes.  Something  he  had  anticipated  was  amusing 
him. 

"  Well,  then,  what  would  you  suggest  ? "  Gentle 
was  asking  of  Phillip,  with  just  a  little  heat  in  the  tone 
of  his  voice. 

"  I'd  suggest  homes  for  consumptives !  "  The  an- 
swer came  with  unhesitating  promptness.  "  That's 
what  the  city  needs." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Margaret  now  broke  in 
firmly.  "  We  do  not  want  homes  for  consumptives,  we 
must  build  homes  to  prevent  consumption.  We  must 
think  of  the  next  generation,  we  must  help  the  poor 
children,  we  must  give  them  sunshine,  green  fields " 


302  THE   BATTLE 

"  Impossible !  "  Phillip  pointed  out.  "  You  can't  take 
them  away  from  their  parents." 

"  Let  the  parents  go,  too !  " 

"  No,  no,  the  parents  have  to  work !  "  and  "  No,  no, 
that  would  pauperize  them !  "  cried  Phillip  and  Gentle 
at  the  same  time. 

"I  never  thought  of  that!"  confessed  the  girl  in 
bewilderment. 

Haggleton  was  smiling  now.  He  was  enjoying  him- 
self hugely. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  to  be?  "  he  asked.  "  You  three 
have  been  studying  the  problem  for  years,  you  now 
have  all  the  money  you  want,  and  the  first  thing  you 
do  is  to  condemn  each  other's  plans !  " 

And  here  he  received  the  greatest  tribute  that  had 
ever  been  paid  him  in  his  wonderful  career.  These 
three  reformers,  so  sure  of  themselves,  turned  to  him 
with  implicit  reliance  upon  his  talent  for  organization, 
his  genius  for  leadership,  and  without  a  doubt  of  his 
ability  to  solve  their  problem  for  them,  asked,  as  if 
with  one  voice: 

"What  would  you  do?" 

The  millionaire  went  to  the  library  table,  unlocked 
one  of  its  drawers,  took  from  it  a  bundle  of  blue  prints 
and  typewritten  papers,  and  spread  them  out  before 
them. 

"  It  is  the  easiest  way  in  the  world,"  he  began  delib- 
erately. "  There's  only  one  sound,  practical,  common- 
sense  way  to  help  the  poor  of  New  York  City  with- 
out demoralizing  them — and  this  is  the  way — you 
showed  it  to  me,"  he  turned  to  Phillip  with  eyes  full 
of  tenderness,  "  and  now  I'm  going  to  show  you  the 


THE   BATTLE   WON  303 

application  of  your  own  wisdom — you've  got  to  do 
your  loving  yourself — there's  the  answer." 

They  were  seated  at  the  table  now,  Margaret  be- 
tween Phillip  and  his  father,  her  head  leaning  against 
the  shoulder  of  the  one,  her  hand  holding  that  of  the 
other.  Gentle,  at  Haggleton's  right,  was  beaming  with 
contentment. 

They  were  examining  plans,  reading  memoranda, 
commenting,  discussing,  asking  questions,  and  receiv- 
ing prompt,  clear  replies. 

Haggleton  was  happy. 

He  had  taught  many  lessons,  but  had  learned  one 
far  greater  than  all  those  he  had  given. 

He  had  learned  to  do  his  loving  himself. 

The  battle  was  won. 


THE  END 


' 
i 


A    000  051  449    7 


